The Thirteenth Labor
by ExistentialBeliever
Summary: What if Berserker did retain his sanity during the Holy Grail War? Follow Berserker as he journeyed through an epic tales of family, sacrifice, and redemption. Re-editing in process (Chapter 1-2 edited).
1. Sentinel

**A/N**

Personally, I feel that Berserker is the least developed character in the whole cast due to his madness, thus I decided to write this story to shed some more light on him as a person.

_Italics_ indicate flashback

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><p><strong>Chapter 1 – Sentinel<strong>

**Einzbern Manor (1.48 PM)**

The sky was moonless.

Darkness and silence seized control of the land below. They reigned unchallenged, extending oppressive grasp over a castle that protruded over the sea of trees with stony spires.

In defiance to the surrounding bleakness, the castle provided a sanctuary to its few inhabitants. The first sign of life was revealed through the faint breathing of a girl and the crackling splinters of a died-out fireplace.

A frail scene of tranquility, but this sanctuary was not without its protector.

Her voice stirred the giant out of the camouflaging darkness. With his stillness and silence, he appeared to be an out-of-place statue in this well-furnished room, but he was hardly just there for decoration. The giant was unceasingly vigilant. His senses were honed ready to detect the slightest harm that would befall his Master.

Except for one.

There was one enemy that Berserker couldn't quite protect his Master from. Throughout his life, he had fought and prevailed over legions of men and beasts, but he had no skill to subdue an enemy that existed only in her mind.

The girl's peaceful breathing became muted as a nightmare set in.

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><p><em>A child's sobbing broke the dead silence within a modest bedroom. A huge figure bumbled in, wading through the darkness. The sound of his daughter's led him to her bedside. With great care not to wake her, he gently lowered his hand upon the crown of her head. His caress, filled with fatherly affection, soon repelled the terror of her nightmare.<em>

"_Sleep well, my daughter."_

_A thin smile spread on his face as he whispered. His hand gently lulled the little girl into a peaceful sleep._

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><p>Attempting to sooth her fear, Berserker hesitantly extended his hand. Black leathery skin, dyed steel gray after the completion of the Twelve Labor, contrasted with the girl's angelic white complexion, but his hand's descend was slow, excruciatingly so.<p>

Within this nostalgic setting, the same pitiless guilt haunted him, returning like a specter from the dark. It pierced him for every inch that he overcame until the final jolt prevailed, forcing his hand to an abrupt stop.

The sob continued. The girl longed for a comfort that she'd never experienced, a comfort that he could provide but didn't have the courage to offer.

His hand remained hanging in an awkward position right above her, dangling like a puppet without the strength or the will of its own.

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><p><em>He blacked out. For how long he had no idea.<em>

_He woke up finding his right hand was completely drenched._

_Was it raining or perhaps his young daughter had inappropriately relieved herself?_

_Neither seemed to be the answer, but it only took him only a moment longer to reach the conclusion. He could not have mistaken such a familiar steely odor._

_This warm adhering liquid was blood_

_The simple realization forced an agonizing roar that shook the entire house with its sheer force. He scooped her broken body as if to wake the remains of his most precious from her eternal slumber. The sensation of her body against his was sickening, like a boneless jellyfish._

_She was dead. That much was apparent, but it didn't stop him from calling out to every god that he knew, praying and pleading for her return._

_The sound of footsteps broke his desperate prayer. He snapped his neck to its source, only to find his wife and boys trembling in the middle of the doorway. The faint glow of the lamp that she carried revealed their face, contorted by pure terror. Still, that wasn't what managed to seize his attention away from the broken body in his arms. _

_It was their eyes!_

_THEIR EYES! _

_Their eyes that contained a storm of emotions: rejection, disgust, and most of all fear. _

_Their eyes that directed all of them at him like a hail of arrows._

_Unable to withstand the intensity of their accusation, a menacing field of red spilled over and dyed his vision. **MAKE IT STOP! MAKE IT STOP! STOP! STOP! STOP! PLEASE STOP! STOP! NO! STOP! STOP! MAKE IT STOP!STOP! STOP! STOP! STOP!**_

_He let out another roar, no longer of anguish but rage. _

**_STOP! STOP! STOP! STOP! STOP! STOP! STOP! S-TOP! S-T-OP! ST-OP! S-TO-P! STOP- LOOKING AT ME LIKE THAT._**

_He approached them, all bloodied. He answered their words with incoherent groans and roars. _

_None had fled, not because they had placed their trust in the beast that took form of their most beloved, but simply because their limbs were seized by raw fear._

_The night ended with their terrified screams. _

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><p>Berserker sighed deeply and retracted his hand. This one feat was impossible for him to accomplish. The fragile creature would break if he'd apply the slightest of his strength. He couldn't lay his hand upon her body without being stricken by the terror that it will come up smeared with her blood.<p>

Berserker didn't fail to see irony. He was tasked with protecting a girl while the bloodstain of his own daughter had yet to be washed away. He suspected that there was some greater force at work that never seemed to tire in weaving the web of torment to ensnare him.

The girl's very existence was a living reminder of sin. The guilt that she roused from the depths of his soul made staying near her hard enough without having to watch for the threat from other Servants. How he wished that the Holy Grail would've just completely robbed his mind and let him revel in the guilt-free bliss of insanity.

He would give anything to receive such a blessing.

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><p><em>He cursed his own body, though it embodied the perfect form of man. He cursed his strength, though it was a prize sought for by most. He cursed the gods for they were the perpetrator of his sorrow through senseless lust and jealousy, but most of all he cursed himself for being powerless to stop the tragedy.<em>

_Guilt stalked him like wild beast, allowing him neither rest nor escape. All attempts to run were futile. It would find him, no matter where he hid, dripping accusation into his ears like droplets of venom._

_He was desperate for forgiveness. As such, he clung onto the first opportunity that presented itself. He did wonder how the decrepit oracle knew exactly the tasks he would need for his atonement, but the allure of redemption was far too great to let the opportunity pass by._

_With a heavy but hopeful heart, he set out for first of his Twelve Labors._

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><p>Why, he wondered, did he continue to struggle? Why couldn't he just give up and let the gods decide the judgment befitting of his crime? Why did he reach for the grail in the last moment to continue this hollowed existence?<p>

Perhaps he simply feared the horror that Hades had prepared for a grave sinner like him upon in entry into the afterlife. Then again, there was barely any reason for him to fear the underworld after he had marched in and returned to the surface with the three headed guard dog slung across his shoulder.

Berserker's lips crooked into a pitying smile. The real answer was much simpler. More than the sword and arrows of any foes, more than any infernal punishments that were laying in wait, Berserker's deepest fear was to be reunited with his family.

Like a child hiding a wet mattress from his parent, Berserker, too, feared his own wrongdoing, so much so that he had snapped their frail white necks before they could utter a word of rebuke. Ultimately, it was his own action that proved louder than their words.

Heracles was no more than a mere beast.

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><p><em>They called him a hero. They called him a god. They called him with a myriad of exalting names. All men strived to bask in the same glory. All women swooned with his presence. He was their god<em>

_A god in human form._

_But it was merely an illusion. What the crowd saw before their groveling self was neither a god nor a man. He was merely a soulless shell, destined to suffer until his last breath._

_His labors were for naught. The sins that clung on to his hands was not washed away. He still saw the stain when he bathed, still smell the steel as he turned to bed, and tasted raw flesh as he ate. _

_The oracle had lied. Even after traveling this distance, the glitter of redemption was still too far to be grasped. Not knowing what else he could do, the mighty Heracles first came to taste the bitterness of despair._

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><p>Just as he was sinking into the lowest depths of self-disgust, a soft sensation enveloped his finger. The girl's blind hand had found its whereabouts while he was lost in his reverie. Berserker froze and attempted in vain to extract his finger, but she didn't make it easy for him.<p>

The girl desperately clung on, her knuckles turning white and her veins appearing underneath the skin.

While it was simple for Berserker to pry his finger from her grasp, he couldn't bring himself to do so. For him, only a fine line existed between removing her hand and snapping her wrist outright. Without any other options, he conceded and sat down at the edge of her bed, deeming it easier to endure this guilt through the remaining night than facing the fear of unknowingly breaking her wrist.

Guilt burned him like a flame.

A flame that could never be put out.

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><p><em>The funeral pyre roared.<em>

_He could still hear the chorus of dirges and the chant of orisons, but, beyond the fiery wall, they were no more than an obscured drone to his ears. While the love and adoration did temporarily tingle his sense of fulfillment, its effect was short to last, soon to be submerged in the pitch black sea of guilt._

_It took sometime before he could hear the crack and sizzle of his skin as the flame gradually coiled around his body. Painful as it was, he joyfully welcomed every sensations._

_His life would be the last payment to compensate for the atrocity he had committed. He lamented the fact that he had no more to give for it was absurd to consider that this sinful soul was of equal value to the four that he'd taken, but it was all that he could offer._

_Savoring the freedom that he hadn't tasted for years, Heracles reclined his whole body into the inferno and closed his eyes._

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><p>But, alongside guilt, her touch did give rise to another emotion, one that was nearly forgotten through years of pain and strife.<p>

Fatherly affection.

Perhaps, there was a reason why he was chosen to be the girl's protector when there were hundreds of others that could have been given the chance.

The realization gradually mellowed into his conscience. It was lurking there all along. He simply chose to turn a blind eye to it in fear that this glitter of hope too will turn out to be false.

He couldn't fool himself forever.

The girl was his thirteenth labor, the last and the most difficult to accomplish, but Berserker was determined to see it through. Not simply because she was a path to his redemption, but also to protect her in the stead of the one that he had failed to as a father.

The girl snuggled against the warmth of his hand as a daughter would, indulging in the comfort and safety that he offered. Overcame by his emotions, Berserker bent down and planted a fatherly kiss on her forehead. His lips uttered the phrase that had been forsaken for so long.

With the blissfulness of hope tingling inside, Berserker cradled Ilya in his arms, rocking her to a peaceful slumber.

"Sleep well, my daughter."

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><p>How was it? Good? Bad? I appreciate any comments, opinions, or reviews so please leave some behind. I'll be using them to improve the story even more in the future. Thanks!<p> 


	2. Excursion

**Chapter 2 – Family Excursion**

The sun peeked over the horizon, bringing the new morning to purge away darkness. The creeping the land was replaced with a magnificent sea of crimson and brown. The maple were heralds to the arrival of autumn. Clouds scattered and leaves rustled as the chilly wind blew past, carrying pungent smell of earth and dry leaves.

War approached with every passing moment, but Berserker had no fear, only fierce determination to succeed in his labor, the thirteenth and the first that he had chosen for himself. Imbued with a sense of purpose, the guilt that lingered in his mind was purged along side darkness.

It had been years since his mind was blessed with such a daylight clarity.

The girl was waking up, but she didn't notice the change within him. Few would, if any.

"Berserker...?"

She gave him a questioning glance for the hand he laid upon her, but he only smiled in response. An honest smile without any particular meaning.

Except nostalgia

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><p><em>Endless green stretched across the meadow to the distant rolling hills. The pale violet of lavender and fresh yellow of dandelions scattered in small bushes, enriching the landscape with a touch of spring. An ancient forest loomed beyond the field. <em>

_Sheep huddled close as they grazed. Children gathered around him, frolicking in their usual cheerful way. A few were his own. The rest were gradually attracted to this place of high views and gentle breezes and, of course, to him._

_The sight of Heracles plowing through the battlefield might've sent grown men to their knees, begging for their lives, but until duty came calling he was a peaceful man and a shepherd. Along this hills and tree, he was the children's favorite. _

_Always had been._

_His feats had earned him immediate admiration from the boys. The girls were more reluctant, but some did warm up after seeing past his intimidating shell. Now they gathered around him and listened to his stories._

_Heracles was not troubled by their attention. On the contrary, he was quite satisfied. Better to be with them than the adults who could easily invoke his wrath with their deceits and hypocrisies. For a man whose temper can prove deadly, the arrangement was only for the best._

_Those carefree days were spent amidst the laughter of children and the faint scent of spring flowers._

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><p>Nostalgia bloomed. Being beside Ilyasviel filled him with the yearning for that peaceful time, that brief period where his life wasn't plagued with anguish, but soon it was time for dreams to subside and for reality to set in.<p>

The sweetness of spring was long gone, leaving him to weather the cold dry wind that lost the sprightly taste. Autumn was no time to frolic in a meadow. It was the time of preparation to brace for the harsh winter that would soon arrive.

Heracles wasn't laying down on that peaceful meadow of home. Here, Heracles was a warrior soon to be locked in a deadly skirmish with foes that remained hidden and ready to strike from every unobserved corner.

It was a pressing concern, for his lady seemed to be unaware of the danger. For her sake, he had to remain vigilant.

_I suppose it is too soon to be calling her a Lady_. Berserker chuckled, seeing the said girl in an unruly state.

The wind tousled Ilya's pale hair as she leaned out an open window. Her small frame swayed and her night gown fluttered, as if a strong gust would carry her away. Her gaze trailed longingly from the forest toward the city in the distance.

"Such a nice weather…Maybe I should go out for a bit."

"No, you mustn't."

Berserker was prepared for Sella's harsh refusal. He had become somewhat acquainted with them over the past few days. Her strictness was a voice of control, a trait that only seemed to be bested by her compassion for Ilya.

Apparently, the girl herself failed to understand this.

"Come on, just a half a day outside…"

"Pardon me for saying, but it's already bad enough that you pulled that disappearing act a few days ago."

"Please, mistress, we do not wish for any harm to befall you."

The maids were determined to go against Ilya's wish, but their eyes showed genuine worry, a motherly touch to their usual stoic demeanor.

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><p>"<em>Don't let them be harmed. Please protect them…"<em>

_The desperate plea continued to ring, the parting words of his wife before he'd set out for the hill._

_Far behind him, the small village was in an uproar. Torches and lamps were gathered in the town center at her behest. The people awoken from their well-deserved slumber._

_His son and daughter had yet to return from the forest long after the veil of the night had descended. Heracles knew this vast mountain range by heart and how darkness could transform the serene retreat into a deadly snare for all those who carelessly enter._

_Guilt…_

_The feeling pricked his mind._

_They children have been safely tucked in bed by this time of the night_

_If only he hadn't voiced his support for their bragging… if only he hadn't remained silent as they rushed off to explore the land that expanded before very their eyes. _

_It was a mistake to cheer them on while their scrawny arms were too fragile to stand up against any danger that lurked in this forest._ _A parent's first and foremost duty was to keep their children safe._

_He alone had to bear the responsibility of allowing them to wander in the wilderness._

_He alone was to blame for this grave mistake._

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><p>Berserker found no fault with the maids' judgment.<p>

The danger of allowing Ilya to indulge in this small leisure was apparent, impossible to deny. The Holy Grail War was still a few days away, but a good hunter starts their game early.

There was much to be done after a successful summoning ritual. Surveying the area and its people, fortifying up defense perimeters, and gathering the information about the other six, all these would beckon the other Masters, or at least their familiars, to the streets during this early stage.

With the Einzbern's connections, they had the luxury of being spared from these chores. It was a fool's choice to venture back into that hornet nest, all the more when Ilya would be going along.

"Berserker?" .

"I share their opinion. In here, you would be safest."

A frown grew on the girl's face, but Berserker did not respond. His mind had to be steeled to ignore her displeasure. Otherwise, he would have taken her in his arms and marched to the city in that instant.

It was his duty to ensure that the girl could be kept safe, even if it meant going against her wishes. After completing the twelve prior labors, he was intent on seeing his final labor through.

He would keep Ilya safe. He swore to himself, to his pride as a Heroic Spirit, and to his pride as a father. All that dared to raise an arm against her were destined to perish by his hands.

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><p><em>Dead bodies scattered across the forest ground. For the beasts foolish enough to bare their fangs against those he treasured, it was only a fair retribution to be mauled by his bare hands.<em>

_Heracles' entry was not a second too late. Without him to separate the tangling pair, the wolves would have gorged their fill of human flesh. The boy underneath was the most fortunate to have been spared._ _Sighs of relief beckoned the younger of the two out of her hiding place in the bush. Tears washed down her face both in fear and relief._

_Her brother had chosen to sacrifice himself to the wolves' claws and fangs, so that she could remain in hiding. _

_An admirable decision, but a foolish one nonetheless._

_Now that Heracles had found them both, anger welled from the back of his mind, but a more powerful emotion was relief. For him, there was no greater joy in that moment than to find them unharmed. All the anger was blown away with whispers of apology and tearstains. _

_A single droplet of children's tears was far more effective in bending Heracles' ironclad will than any gold or weapons._

_He had already forgiven them._

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><p>Berserker needed no reminder of his weakness. He was a family man and doting father at heart. While fearsome and ruthless toward the enemy, he was compassionate and tolerant toward the weak and helpless. It was unavoidable that a conflicting emotion should arise soon after.<p>

He longed to spoil her. There was only so much time before they would be dragged into the tumult of war and violence. From the bottom of his heart, he wished that she could enjoy every bit of the little freedom she had left.

A dilemma forced Berserker to watch the scene unfold in silence.

"But I…I…" Tears brimmed the corner of Ilya's eyes. "I just want to take a look outside. It's my first time to be out of the castle…"

"…Mistress." The maids were unable to find any words of consolation. It was impossible to convey their feelings of empathy when their young mistress was so filled with disappointment.

"I don't care anymore!" Throwing a tantrum as any child would, Ilya returned to the cover of her bed, shunning away the outside world with the layer of woolen blanket.

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><p><em>Trampling through the blanket of foliage, Heracles retraced his steps home with both children carried on his back.<em>

_They were exhausted, nestling their weary heads against his back and yawning slightly. The time to admonish them would come, but they had experienced much over the course of a day, far too much for a child to handle. It was a time for their rest._

"_Come with us…Next time…come with us…" the eldest murmured wearily. "...We'll go until the end of that forest…"_

"_Leave it for later, lad. You've stepped far beyond your bounds tonight." Heracles was full of pride, despite his words of rebuke._

_The boy truly was the son of Heracles. Young as he was, chivalry and courage seemed to have come naturally. Even a pack of wolves was rather lacking to induce fear into his heart._

"_Do you wish to see what is beyond the forest?" Heracles asked and the boy answered with any hesitation._

_Between them, a promise was made. It was one of a new venture into the forest, but this time with the Hero of Thebes himself to shield them from harm._

_The boy was apparently satisfied to have secured his father's support and sleep enveloped him soon after._

_During their peaceful trek home, never once had Heracles anticipated that tragedy was just looming over the horizon. Death caught them within the safe haven of their own home, using his hands as medium to carry out its gruesome task._

_And the promise was left unfulfilled._

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><p>"I will accompany Ilya. No harm will befall her." Cutting in between Ilya and the maids, Berserker stood up and spoke with a certain sense of finality.<p>

"Berserker…" The girl was all too predictable. A wide smile adorned her face as soon as she poked her little head out of the blanket. "See? See? Berserker said so!"

Sella questioned him with her eyes and Leysritt was still trying to grasp the sudden turn of events, but Berserker remained resolute. In his mind, a conclusion had been reached.

"I… understand, if that your wish. Please be careful and return safely." The maids remained reluctant, but eventually yielded. Who were they to dare go against the will of Heracles?

"The matter is decided then." Feeling that a mountain was lifted from his shoulders, Berserker offered his right hand to the girl, still half-hidden under her blanket. She accepted it with her own, frail and tiny, and allowed the giant to lift her onto his shoulder.

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><p><em>The wooden bed creaked under Heracles' weight as he leaned down and spread the blanket over his daughter.<em>

_Being stranded amidst the darkness, the beasts, and the solitude of the mountain was more than her young heart could endure. Fear pursued her into the safe haven of her bedroom, lurking behind every dark corner and fluttering curtain._

"_Sleep…There is no harm to befall you," Heracles whispered and remained at her bedside like a steadfast sentinel._

"…_Thank you." Secured by her father's strong presence, the girl showed him her full smile._

_Her childish innocence softened Heracles' hard stare. This joyful expression was what he lived for, the encouragement he needed to brave through the new day._

_All that he did was just for the sake of this smile._

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><p>As a father, he would be ashamed to let tears and frowns ruin her face. A success of a Servant held no meaning against the failure of a parent.<p>

Her life…

Her smile…

He would protect them all with a strength and fervor to rival that of Ares himself.

The opportunity to see the girl being so joyous was a rare thing to come by while she remained trapped in the castle of winter and thus it was time to lay these worries at rest.

"Let's go! Let's explore the city!"

"Lead on."

Her joyful gait brought a smile to him, but harsh life and sorrow had locked his facial expression into an eternal frown, unable to be changed by his whim. When he smiled, the line of his lips would just waver so slightly that most except those who were closest to him would've missed it.

"Berserker?" Apparently, Ilya was keen enough. "You seem to be…happy…"

"…I am."

"Did something good happen? Tell me!"

"Pay no heed about me. All you have to worry about is to enjoy this day to your fullest..."

"Berserker…"

Berserker could feel Ilya fidgeting slightly on his shoulder. The movement struck him as peculiar but, before he could ask what was wrong, she leaned down, placed her lips next to his ear, and whispered softly.

"…Thank you."

Her words reassured Berserker. He had made the right choice.

Although he still had to remain vigilant for the eventual bloodbath, it was foolish to ignore all the simple pleasures that this day had to offer. Never before had Berserker noticed that the scent of dry leaves and damp earth, while not entirely pleasant like the spring flowers, could in its own way be invigorating all the same.

With Ilya on his shoulder and contentment in his heart, the void inside was no more.

At long last, his promise could be fulfilled.

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><p>If you like the story, then please leave some reviews or comments. Thanks!<p> 


	3. Penance

**A/N**

Sorry for such a long gap between update, but my real life had just become so busy as of late. Still, things have begin to settle down a bit, so I should be able to resume normal writing schedule soon. Anyway, hope you enjoy the chapter

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><p><strong>Chapter 3 – Penance<strong>

As with other Heroic Spirits, regret was the major force that drafted Berserker's tormented soul into being a part of the Grail War.

The temptation was indeed great for all those involved. The Grail's limitless power drove wild the imagination of all those who sought it. However, in contrast to kings who sought grandiose or the warriors who sought glory, Berserker held on to but a simple wish in his heart.

He wished for the Grail to erase his pained existence. If it would mean that the atrocity against his family never took place, the world could just revolve on without the heroic feats of Heracles to embellish one of its pages.

This wish of his was Berserker's most tightly guarded secret, shrouded in secrecy to all including Ilya. Partly due to her foreseeable objection, he found no will to impart this secret to her, despite the extent of their trust which ran deeper than any ordinary pair of Master and Servant.

On the contrary, the girl seemed to feel no hesitation even when confiding in him the most intimate of her secrets and he reciprocated, although not with a glimpse of his inner thought, but with patience and understanding. Not being one for many words, Berserker found it easy to still his tongue from handing out early judgment and his advice, although blunt, was spoken with sincerity.

Initially, from an offhanded comment and later from a heartfelt talk, he came to know of her plight as a daughter and as an Einzbern. He sympathized with the sudden loss of her parents and her fate to serve as the pinnacle for the Grail. However, he expressed his doubt toward her desire for revenge.

For that reason alone, Berserker found himself enchained by hesitation. The night breeze tempered this emotion somewhat, but the turmoil was rooted too deeply in his heart to be blown away. From his vantage point atop the crest of this sloping street, his gaze drooped toward the two magi who seemed inevitably intimidated by his presence.

A brief glance at their Servants seemed to tell him another story, however.

The woman stood her ground and returned his gaze without fear. Not even a strand of her muscle or sinew did tremble in fright by his presence

The sight made the warrior inside him tremble in delight. The Holy Grail War would end up as no more than a sharp disappointment if he was forced to cut down an intimidated foe.

Indeed, she was a rare specimen among the womankind…

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><p><em>Once sufficiently stripped of all weaponry, they were led into a dimly lit hallway. The stonework of crude craftsmanship was rendered even more hideous with the wear and tear of time and the salty sea breeze. <em>

_Quite uncharacteristically, his crews were reduced to meekness before the crowd of women that served as their escort, keeping their heads low and their gaze averted. In any other circumstances, they would have wasted no time before indulging themselves in so luscious a sight after being deprived of female presence during weeks of sea voyage. None, however, seemed to have the heart to observe this band of grizzled warriors with lecherous eyes. _

_These women were not ones to be cowed under the shadow of a patriarch. When war was upon them, seldom did they huddled the under legion of shields, but set forth with bow and arrow after the head of the enemy general instead. Even the sailors who braved Poseidon's dominion had no need for more reasons to be afraid. _

_A brief command from their escort forced his crews to their knee. It had been said that inside every Amazonian burned an intense hatred of every feeble man and they were not too keen on putting the saying to test. Dishonor was but a remote notion compared to the apparent threat of receiving the cold merciless tip of an arrow in the middle of one's back. _

_Once they were goaded into proper position of respect, a female figure emerged and reclined on the lofty throne. Breaths were held in awe of her presence, which seemed to command the very air of reverence and poise, a wise leader in the time of peace and a valiant commander in the time of war. Long years of leadership wore down the beauty in her face, leaving only sharp hawk-like feature to scrutinize them. _

"…_State your intention, outsider. What is it that you wish of us?" _

_Nevertheless, she seemed intrigued by his presence. Her voice softened into a mellow feminine tone and the stern mask that covered her visage faltered for a brief moment. In him she had found the noblest specimen of the opposite gender. _

_Ignoring the demure look in her eyes, Heracles knelt down and bellowed. _

"_O brave queen of the Amazonians…"_

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><p>Against his better judgment and the force of instinct that warned against the coming battle, Berserker's right arm stiffened. Before a warrior or even a Servant, he spared greater significance toward his status as Ilya's guardian and, thus, this fight was one that he would rather avoid if at all possible.<p>

_This situation…_

"Get them, Berserker!"

…_is there no alternative to it… _

Lamenting his inability to come up with any better solutions, Berserker resigned himself to the unavoidable duty of a Servant. Despite the rapport they had nurtured, he was inherently no more than a Servant to Ilya. It was not his place to meddle in her personal affairs.

"…Come then, it is the wish of my Master for our blades to clash, as it is my own to fulfill her."

"Well said, Berserker, then we shall converse with blade instead of words…"

Determination, however, was often more honest than words. Despite what had been uttered to Saber, this mental shackle still remained tightly clasped on his arms. Hesitation hindered his strike and Saber was keen enough to exploit it in full. The knight countered his attack, drawing her sword along the length of his.

_Impressive…_

Berserker was forced to retract his blade in defense. Considering the effect of God Hand, it was perhaps an unnecessary move, but he was not about to break the usual pattern he had fought with for so long. With one fluid motion, his blade was turned from defense to offense as he pushed forth with a savage swing, albeit weighted down by hesitation all the same.

Why should a man's heart be laden by guilt in doing what was commanded by his duty?

…Madness it might be, but the reason wasn't so difficult to fathom. The female knight was all that stood between him and Ilya's surrogate brother. Among all of her selfish desires that he'd accommodated, he couldn't justify the horror of this particular act of killing.

Not because his heart held affection for the boy, but because he knew full well the consequence that the decision would inflict on Ilya. Indeed, her youthful mind seemed to have yet to grasp the horror of murdering another human being, much less a family member.

* * *

><p><em>Her advance rid his mind of reason. Her passionate whispers drove him wild with desire and guilt. It had been too long since he had been deprived of a woman's sensual touch. The beast, once enchained, was now freed from its bonds and destruction was all that its simplistic mind could be concerned with. <em>

_Cleansing water poured down from the sky as he laid her to rest on the desolate ground of the dock. The flowing torrent washed all blemishes from her flesh. The tiny red puddle that pooled below his feet was soon diluted into nothingness, but the mark of sins on his left hand could not be washed away with the same ease. _

_His feet carried him away from the scene, one heavy step after another._ _His heart was laden with guilt and his feet with shame. His voice bellowed to rouse the crew from their slumber. With a strong right hand, the mast was lowered and anchor lifted. _

_As the wind and oarsmen's toil carried them away, Heracles was left to remain frozen at the stern of the galley and watched as the port was eventually reduced into a distant speck of light. _

_It was a futile endeavor for the pursuers to be chasing them through the storm, but he was certain that they would try nonetheless…The offense he had inflicted upon them was far too severe to be forgiven. _

_Questions echoed in his mind, spurred by his conscience. _

_What man could stand to soil his hand with not only the blood of the innocent, but the blood of a gracious host? What coward wouldn't have the courage to face their cries of lament and roars of anger? _

…_Yet, for all this time, tightly clutched in his left hand was her bloodied girdle. His left hand had robbed and plundered like a wretched thief. Though numbed by the storm and guilt, it refused to be pried from its prized loot…_

* * *

><p>Being a child, Ilya had yet to wrap her mind around the would-be consequences of her action. To be causing death of other human beings, no matter how insignificant, was a loathsome affair.<p>

Without the experience to tell her so, Ilya lacked both the foresight and restraint in fulfilling her desire. Such immaturity was not so much a cause for concern to be found in a child had it not been for the fact that she possessed the power to physically turn her gruesome fantasy a reality with no more than a single word of command.

A dangerous combination, Berserker hadn't failed to notice, for it was a foolish venture to rejoice in the demise of others. Before long, the brief pleasure would recede, leaving only a bitter aftertaste on one's tongue…

Alas, the skirmish was before him and it offer him little time for reprieve. He was forced to counter as the knight rebounded from her first strike and resumed her offensive stance.

Clang!

Steel and stone clashed once again, leaving no clear victor as they parted. An annoyed grunt from the giant and a feral war cry were exchanged as their duel raged on. Countless blows were traded in the span of a few seconds, leaving only sparks and faint outlines to be perceived by ordinary eyes.

Slicing through the air with the knight's graceful swordplay was the broadsword. Alas, it was matched at least in speed by the massive stone axe, handled by it user with same ease he would a much more wieldy xiphos.

Nevertheless, the knight seemed to be holding a marginal advantage over her foe. Though her arms lacked the same strength, her lithe frame ensured superior agility. Her offensive didn't falter in the least even as she leapt backward to reduce the impact of their clashing weapons. Bending her knee to receive the impact, her legs found an impeccable tempo to utilize the recoil and launched herself forward like a turbulent gale. Sword raised up high as she advanced for another strike.

A pair of untrained eyes might deem the knight to be in a position of advantage, as the giant seemed to have retreated into a protective shell when faced her incessant attacks.

The truth, however, did not take such a simplistic form.

Years of experience convinced Berserker it was a fool's errand to be heading toward the offensive with such uncertainty. The lack of visual judgment on the length of her invisible blade could lead to lapses in his movement, potentially fatal when taking the opponent's skill into consideration. Nevertheless, the brief period of passivity was soon to pass. With the final exchange to confirm his estimate, the giant was ready to act.

Alas, the knight still remained confident, fooled by the notion that she'd advanced past the effective range of his oversized blade. The assault had her fair complexion creased with the ferocity of a lioness. Two gauntleted hands tightened their grip on the sword hilt as a burst of prana propelled a downward swing…

Clang!

However, Berserker was not vulnerable to the weakness of range and the mighty blade never quite had the chance to complete its arc. The sound of impact that reverberated through the area signified that her attack path was blocked mid swing.

With the length of invisible blade duly approximated, it was not beyond Berserker's ability to strategically position the carved stone that formed the hand guard of his blade to intercept the swing. Ordinarily not a plausible strategy as the weaker end of the weapon would break upon impact, but a conceptual weapon left no distinction between the strength of its blade and hilt. From there it was simple matter for Berserker to tip the weapon lock in his favor, a twist to shift her weight balance and a slight upward movement to break her stance. With clearly the advantage of strength on his side, what seemed to Berserker like a small maneuver did generate enough torque to nearly tear the weapon out of her hands.

A small click of metal against metal could be heard as the knight tightened her grip and clung on the weapon with all her might. Still, with her blade pointing harmlessly toward the sky, she was rendered defenseless, a prime opportunity for him to exact the hefty price of her offensive in full.

Berserker similarly tightened his grip around his weapon, albeit for a different purpose. Against plated armor, it was conventional wisdom to be utilizing blunt weaponry where cleaving or slashing blows were virtually ineffectual. However, his weapon choice left no room for such weakness. Despite possessing only one bladed end, the sheer mass of the stone blade was not to be underestimated.

Without recovering from his earlier parrying move, the opposite end of the blade was brought down on his opponent. Without the madness to hamper his concentration, the blow struck the knight's chest with pinpoint accuracy. Though protected, her magic-imbued armor alone was far from sufficient as it crumpled inward against her torso like a small tin can. Sure enough, the impact did not die down from simply crushing her protective gear, but proceeded forth to shear vulnerable flesh beneath.

The impact delivered by the demigod far surpassed anything the knight had experienced during both her time as a king and a servant. The sheer ferocity of it knocked the wind out of her lungs, rendering even the simple act of screaming to be beyond her ability. Helpless, her form was flung further along the street, where it continued to lay limply after a few involuntary rolls that broke the momentum.

The sensation transmitted through his arm gave Berserker insight to his opponent's condition. With the plate of steel crumpled by his sheer strength, the knight was in no condition to struggle against his coup de grace. As such, he pursued her fallen form with a casual stride and a tinge of regret.

The weapon grip grated his hand like sandpaper, forcing Berserker into a struggle to even maintain a decent hold. The truth of the matter wasn't that he loathed the act of delivering the final blow itself, for it merely was just another ritual to be completed upon the end of a duel. Upon drawing their weapons, both warriors had conceded to prospect of having their life forfeited, thus there was to be no shame in acting upon tacit agreement that bound them.

But the Holy Grail War demanded more than simply besting the other Servants in a duel. One could barely declare themselves a true victor without ensuring the demise of the remaining Masters. It was this very act that induced a sense of chilling dread within him.

As if his whole self had been transformed into an automaton, it seemed that his senses were dulled to shut off the gruesome implication of the act itself. Berserker marched onward, retaining only partial awareness of his immediate action. Following pre-programmed movement that had been done countless times before, the axe was hoisted above his head and promptly dropped down upon its target.

However, the suddenness of the movement left him with no opportunity to observe that something was amiss.

Perhaps with unmatched valor or sheer foolishness, the boy had switched place with his Servant and thrown himself into a path of grisly death. A foolish decision, seeing that there seemed to be no remotest hope of survival and also a greatly troubling one for Berserker for it hastened his most dreaded outcome.

With the foresight to scream out in sheer disgust at the complacent approach, Heracles' determination was rekindled. His child, in youthfulness and ignorance, desired to stain her hand with the blood of a family. As a father, how could he turn a blind eye to such offense?

But, the stubborn axe, once set on its course, remained deaf to his determination, clinging faithfully to its path…

* * *

><p><em>Hours had passed after their escape before the weary crew conceded to a minor prospect of relief. With no distant speck of light or looming shadow of the Amazonian fleet to pursue them, they all retired for the night. <em>

…_Perhaps, all but one. _

_Sleep was a prize unworthy for one so tainted by sin. It was a penance that he had not intended to offer, but was nonetheless taken away. _

_Unlike any other men, Heracles' own mental plane was no place of rest. It was during the dead silence of the night that his mind became withdrawn to a desolate land prowled by beasts of conscience that aimed to tear his flesh on sight, a realm that was no kinder to him than the harsh world waiting outside._

_The agitation prevented sleep from reaching him. Before long, a sense of discomfort grew as the ship was tossed from the crest of one wave to another, but there was no grievance to be uttered even if Poseidon should to unleash his fury upon their dainty vessel. _

…_A vessel containing a grave sinner who deserved no safe haven. _

_Another wave tossed away the remaining prospect of a peaceful rest from his mind and convinced Heracles to scramble beyond the confines of his quarters. Balancing himself through the dark creaking passage, he emerged alone on the deck. Surrounded with high waves from all sides, the darkened body of water mirrored the emotional turmoil that threatened to consume him. _

… _Guilt was an indeed a peculiar thing. For every flesh wound he'd escaped from, it struck his conscience with twice the force. Alas, he had little choice but to bear the weight of this anguish. It was the righteous torment to be borne by those who'd unjustly taken the life of others. _

_A wrathful roar and uncontrollable sobbing mixed to form gurgles that emerged from his throat. His malicious glare was directed toward the left hand that had brought about her demise. _

"_Uwarrgghhh!"_

_In a moment of rage, an aspis was seized from the row that lined the side of the ship. Although the shield was meant to keep the oarsmen safe from projectiles, its purpose doubled well as a weapon. With the jagged edge of the shield, his left hand was struck down as if it belonged to a nemesis. _

_Though reinforced with bronze, the wooden plate cracked under his strength and his hand soon followed suit. Bone shattered and flesh mangled from the raw display of force, but Heracles was impervious to the pain, for it paled in comparison to the agony that was lodged deep in his heart. _

_It was the only fitting punishment to those who have cause the demise of others._

* * *

><p>A short breathless moment ensued, marked by a scream. Blood splattered the ground, but a keener observation would reveal that all the apprehension had been for naught, for it was Berserker's left hand that stood to receive the weapons in the boy's stead.<p>

With his knees buckled and his mouth agape, Shirou's dumbstruck form fell flat to the ground but otherwise he was unscathed. Although not the exact recipient of the blow, the small whirlwind generated with the sheer of the attack still reverberated through his body. The turn of events must have caught the lad by surprise. The incoming juggernaut would have been enough to convince any man of a prospect of certain death.

Berserker produced another stifled grunt as he extracted the blade from his own flesh. Blood gushed out in a steady rhythm of his heartbeat, trickling down toward the ground in tiny rivulets. Although afflicted with severe damage, the steel grey hide had proven to be an equivalent match to the stubborn axe and prevented his arm from being severed.

In complete disregard of those bewildered by his unfathomable action, Berserker turned his back to the opponent and the duel itself. Marching steadily, he came to stop before his master.

Although wondering what could have induced such a madness in him, the mutual respect that they shared made Ilya reluctant in using her command spell to force Berserker against his will. The determination in his eyes cemented this decision.

"We are leaving…"

"But-"

"Hush, this is no time for debate…" His right hand lowered to pat her head patronizingly. Without an opportunity to let Illya register any complaint, Berserker's right arm was outstretched before her. His determined gaze eventually convinced her to clamber onto it and ready herself for their departure, albeit not without much annoyed grumbles.

However, there seemed to be one more who was displeased by what appeared to be the premature end of the duel.

"Wait, Berserker!" Staggering, Saber returned to her feet, never noticing that her once impressive blade had been reduced to walking stick. Yet, with indignation on her lips, she bellowed, "do you mean to be walking away from our duel?"

Berserker couldn't blame her for the outburst. Saber was protected by her lord and spared by her foe. While the chivalric code of knight was beyond his understanding, as a fellow man of honor, he could only imagine the shame that she was going through.

"The outcome is evident to all whose eyes are not blinded. My last strike would have claimed your life had it not been for your Master's intervention. Is it not so, Saber?"

His words produced a profound effect on the King of Knights. By the time that she uttered her reply, no trace of indignation remained on her lips.

"…It is so." In such a way expected of those who had reached her status, Saber accepted defeat in a manner befitting a true warrior. Biting her lower lips to endure the pain of indignity, she uttered weakly, "My gratitude for sparing Shirou…I am in your debt."

"There is no debt to be paid. It would sully the name of our duel to have the blood of your Master spilt on my account. Even I dare not bring so great a shame upon us. Let us depart for the night, Saber. I pray that we do not meet again." Lowering his head to form a small bow as a gesture of respect to the fellow warrior, Berserker's form lumbered away from the battlefield. With her as an opponent, he knew that it would be excessively vigilant to be for the prospect that she would resume her offensive on an unwary foe.

Still, he had one more problem to deal with. Ilya's disposition caused her to be quick in voicing out the displeasure with his decision, which she did so as soon as the shroud of darkness fell to hide their forms.

"Just a little bit more…" The girl muttered under her breath.

"Are you not satisfied?" Berserker's inquiry seemed to have provoked the girl into a fit of acute displeasure. Flinging both arms and legs about, she screamed in protest.

"You were this close to finishing him off! This close!"

"Careful, girl. You will fall should you struggle so fiercely."

"Unngh, it'll be fine if you just catch me!"

Unable to wipe off his contented smile, Berserker remained unfazed by her scream. The girl's tantrum would cease once she grew weary.

There was much to be done. The children's differences were yet to be reconciled, but, at least for the moment, Berserker was satisfied with his initiative. It was an otherwise unimaginable scenario that the left hand could be the source of this fleeting pride. Though dyed in a crimson shade, he was saved by the knowledge that the blood was his own, paid as a small price for the life of others.

Perhaps, it merely was a delusion or a folly of his mind, but, like a primal baptism, it appeared to Berserker that the sinful stain on his left arm was finally being washed away.

* * *

><p>Now that things have settled down a bit, I should be able to resume normal writing schedule, so hopefully I will be able to finish the next chapter faster than this.<p>

Meanwhile, please leave a review of the story, if it isn't too much of a trouble. Thank you in advance.


	4. Mediation

**AN:** Just to keep this brief, here's the new chapter. Hope you enjoy it and please leave a review if its not too much of a burden.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 4 – Mediation <strong>

With its life prolonged into the new day by a fresh supply of firewood, the soft glowing of the fireplace prevented the gloom of day from penetrating the inner sanctuary of the manor. Pleasant crackling of splinters and the mellow aroma of home-cooked meal deepened the contrast. However, for its occupant, the spark of tension in the air might have made the stormy forest outside much more welcoming than the cozy dining room.

The meal was a daily ritual that they observed at Ilya's behest. As a Heroic Spirit, it might just seem excessive for Berserker to indulge in the physical consumption of food, but he was more than willing to waste a couple of perfectly good steaks to abide by her wish. The refinement in the cuisine of the present day and age was discovered as a pleasant surprise, a little source of guilty pleasure amidst the theater of war, albeit not for today. With all the tension in the air, even the luscious taste of wood-grilled sirloin on his tongue seemed to resemble strips of rubber. The reason for this was obvious.

In any ordinary day, their meals were filled with Ilya's joyous chirping, but now all that could be heard was the soft clinging of utensils and the torrents of raindrops that struck the castle's stony exterior. Apparently, a night of peaceful slumber wasn't quite enough to smother the girl's anger, as made evident by her simmering pout and occasional side-way glares to convey her displeasure.

Ilya had taken offense to his insubordination, much more so than what he had assumed. It was scarcely the first time that he had offended her whether intentionally or through carelessness, but usually it took no more than a couple of hours to get rid of her sulkiness.

Exchanging nervous glances from their position beside Ilya, the maids were evidently troubled. Without knowledge of the event that had transpired, their consolation contributed to no effect and neither Berserker nor Ilya was willing to divulge any details of the last night.

Berserker considered it to be an embarrassing oversight on his part. It shouldn't have taken so long for it to dawn upon him that she would not be sharing the same sentiment in sparing the boy. Still, he did have a small solace in the fact that the concession on her part was obtained without excessive resistance rather than pressing for the boy's death to the bitter end.

…Hesitation, perhaps, at least he hoped so. Otherwise, the possibility of reconciliation would just seem ever more distant.

…No, he had to know that it was so.

Berserker berated himself for the moment of flickering doubt. To pull this gambit through, the trust that he'd placed in her innocence must be unwavering, regardless of the girl's attempt to convince herself otherwise. He would not allow this pair of eyes that had seen through the world of senseless violence to be fooled any longer. Unlike those who reveled in the despair and demise of others, Ilya was not one to share that same apathy toward human life.

It had been said that Masters and Servants are drawn together on account of their similarities, the virtuous to the virtuous, the ruthless to the ruthless, and the tormented to the tormented. A little absurd to think that this delicate little girl could bear any semblance to him, but, in that respect, the Grail would barely lump them together simply to share sob stories.

Beyond a Servant's ordinary call of duty, it was his mission to prevent her from treading down that same path he had fallen into during a brief moment of rage.

…And that brought him back to defusing the present situation.

First was the issue of dealing with Ilya's temper. It might be far from his first experience in handling sulking and displeased children, but her conflict was quite unlike the small squabbles that he was so used to intervening in.

After long years of assuming the role of a family mediator, it was not so difficult to find his children in the midst of their quarrel. Often, it was the boys wrestling on the ground and, occasionally, it was them quarreling with their little sister. While conflicts might've gotten out of hand in some rare occasions, no permanent damage was ever done and, under his guidance, reconciliation was quick to follow.

Such was not the case with the hatred that Ilya bore against her brother. The emotion was kept alive for ten long years, fed with loneliness and envy. Ten years was a long time to harbor a grudge against someone, much less a family member.

* * *

><p><em>Gentle sunlight and mellow breezes along the Mediterranean coastline seemed to be giving a poor indication to the squabble that was raging on beneath. Two small bodies intertwined in a tangled brawl, shouting, cursing, spitting, and pummeling every part of the opponent they could reach. <em>

_Although both were too engrossed to notice, the quarrel was not to last long. Following heavy footsteps that approached were two strong hands that seized the back of their collars. With little effort but much exasperation, Heracles proceeded to separate the troublemakers._

_The strongman of the community, he was the one that they sought to intervene when a brawl broke out. Once a task such as this was repeated enough times, it grew to become a habit. Children or adults, there were none who had the heart to continue their quarrel in his presence…save for his children at least. _

_One unruly child held in each hand, suspended a short distance above ground and away from the range of their small swinging fists, they took turn glaring at him and one another while awaiting the verdict of their father. _

"_What was the cause…?" _

"…_He insulted me…Father." _

_The reason was indeed trivial, but, at their age, he could claim no better. Sharp temper and physical prowess seemed to be all that they'd inherited from him, but his watchful eyes had done their best to prevent their fists from being bloodied. Although the past could not be undone, the least he could do was to prevent them from repeating his mistake. _

_Judging that the position they were in was a poor one with which to engage in a talk, he lowered both to the lush ground beneath and sat beside them. _

"_My boys, the time will come when fortune forces your hands to protect that which you hold dear…But, before then, do not be so eager to raise your hands for a causeless quarrel. Know when words will suffice, for a hand once dirtied cannot be made clean. Like a sword, keep them sheathed, keep them ready, and keep your mind wary to know when to draw." _

_The boys blinked in surprise. _

_It was a rare response from their usually stoic father, who often spared no more than a few words and body gesture to show his affection. _

"_I will, father. I won't fight anymore, just watch me." _

"_M-Me too, I won't lose…"_

_Emboldened by their father's trust, the boys' frowns were transformed into toothy grins. All traces of anger had mellowed away from their faces, leaving only determination to be seen. _

_Still, he was certain that the promise would not last. Neither of them could resist the allure of a brawl for so long. Nevertheless, for all intents and purposes, he was satisfied with their initiative. _

…_When the time came to remind them, he was certain a crack of his wife's hand across their behinds would suffice._

* * *

><p>There was little room for doubt that there were no more than a handful of Servants who could match his caliber, but, as was the nature of all war, demise often befell those who expect it least. The whole matter was delicate, undeniably so, but he had little time to be treading around with hesitation. All Servants were effectively was living on a borrowed time and he was no different.<p>

With the peevish frown on her face, it could be expected that she would reject the opportunity to talk altogether. Nevertheless, it was shameful to allow an obstacle of this size to deter him.

The time to act was now.

"Ilya…" Tossing the girl's name aloud as if to test her mood, he soon received a less than reassuring response.

"I'm not going to talk to you…" Both cheeks puffed up like an angry chipmunk; she turned to the side to avoid establishing eye contact with the giant.

With one massive hand lifted up to knead his temple, Berserker withheld a heavy sigh. While it should already be predictable, her curt reply was a greater cause of vexation than he had thought.

"Just listen then."

"…"

"About the boy…Shirou, is it?"

Her brow furrowed in displeasure at the mention of his name, but otherwise her silence allowed Berserker to push on.

"…Have you considered reconciling with him?"

The question was voiced in his usual way, blunt and bordering on tactless but, nevertheless, sincere. After all, that was what he had intended…to open her eyes to an alternate possibility that didn't require blood to be shed.

Ilya, however, seemed to perceive his gesture differently. Despite Berserker's attempt to mellow down his approach away from being confrontational, her visage had gone through an indignant twist, leaving no trace of the childish pout remaining. The knowledge of his intention about turned what was simply annoyance and sulking into sharp anger.

"What do you…? What do you understand?!"

"No more than what you have told me about the matter," Berserker replied, maintaining a calm disposition to quell the girl's rage. "However, I do understand the value of a family, all the more so if he is the only one that remains."

"Family? Him?! He's the reason why father didn't return home!" In the heat of the moment, it seemed impossible for Ilya to remain in the confinement of her chair. Still, springing up from her seat didn't accomplish much in the term of intimidation against Berserker, who still seemed to tower over her even while seating.

It was a grossly mismatched confrontation; this frail girl, who might just crumble from the giant's slightest touch, boldly initiating a verbal banter with him. However, what underlay her act of defiance was not courage, but the complete trust that his strength would not be directed toward her in hostility. It was unfortunate that both were too preoccupied with surmounting the other to take notice as the inquiry soon escalated into a confrontation.

The relief that washed over Sella's and Leysritt's face for a moment soon waned into another spell of unease. It might not be in any of their best interests for the argument to drag on, but both remained unsure of the manner in which they could intervene. After all, a homunculus' role was in taking order, not initiative.

"Ilya, listen…"

"I don't care! If he wasn't there…! If he just wasn't there…!"

"You were in pain. I understand that much, but is he the one that your anger is supposed to be directed toward? Is it not a better alternative to cherish those who remain rather than pining those you've lost?"

"That-" Ilya's words of response seemed to be stuck within her throat. Berserker's earlier response struck a chord inside her.

"I wish for your smile, Ilya, not simply from victory in this war, but thereafter. It might be well to cherish those in your memory, but never forget about those who remain."

Berserker's words contained a fact that Ilya's rational side could not deny, but her emotional side could not come to terms with. It was by marking Shirou as a target that she could live through the hardship that the Einzberns put her through. To deny that would be to deny the purpose of her existence ever since she had learned of Kiritsugu's death.

Yet, a part of her was swayed, if only for a moment. The possibility was one that she herself had entertained before, albeit briefly, before it was soon discarded. The foundation of her belief was being shaken and it scared her. As such, she lashed out in defense of the notion that she had nurtured for nearly 10 years.

"…What now? You're telling me what to do?"

"…If that is what it takes for your happiness."

"Don't act so cocky! You're just a Servant!"

"A Servant perhaps, but I've lived long enough to learn and teach others about life."

"You were just summoned here to fight!" In a wave of feigned immaturity, words she hadn't truly meant flowed out in vicious torrent.

"Don't start acting like you're my father!"

This time the room fell momentarily into heavy silence with the lack of Berserker's response. Even Ilya herself seemed to realize that she had made a major blunder.

Her accusation seemed to have left even the emotionally-inscrutable Berserker caught in a brief moment of vulnerability. With a slight hint of disappointment to tinge his face, he backed down for the moment. "…Very well, perhaps I did overstep my bounds."

"Of course…of course, you did!" If regret did wash over Ilya, it only did so momentarily before being subsumed by a sense of victory in this verbal banter.

"We will save the argument for later, but spare a thought to what I've said. Once you've killed, the consequence can never be undone, no matter how you wish for the contrary. Think the matter through, Ilya, then tell me your answer."

Ilya clenched her teeth as annoyance flared. Once again, Berserker's words aggravated her and, once again, they made her say something she hadn't fully intended.

"It not's like you have the right to preach to me about this, someone who killed his whole family like you-"

A glance at Berserker cut Ilya off in the middle of her sentence. It was no longer the usual condescending look on his face but a rage-filled glare.

"I said enough of this argument, girl!" A thunderous boom resounded throughout the room as his right fist was slammed down on the table. The gesture might have been meant as an emphasis to his annoyance, but anger had slackened his control over his Herculean strength.

A desperate creak and running crack emerged where his hand had landed as the aged furniture gave in and collapsed to the ground. Amidst the ensuing chaos, the maids swiftly moved to the protection of their mistress, shielding her from flying wood dust and splinters.

As the commotion eventually died down, it took another painfully long moment and vicious glares from the maids for Berserker to comprehend the consequence of his action. Laying down the gold-laced utensils on the small portion of the furniture that still remained intact, Berserker pushed his seat backward for a swift exit. He no longer dared to stay, fearing any minor cause that could trigger his simmering anger to overflow into an outward display of violence.

"Leave me be…" Although dampened by guilt, the cold monotonous words that rolled off the giant's tongue were sufficient to make it clear that his anger had yet to be dissipated.

The blatant display of rage had Ilya rooted to the spot, a perfect reminder that it would require no more effort to twist her neck out of its socket than performing an ordinary chore. The dire consequences of pursuing him or the matter seemed apparent at the moment.

Ilya wasn't quite as blind to the feelings of others as her self-centeredness seemed to indicate, and the impact of her words did eventually sink in, but the shreds of remaining anger prevented any simple phrases of apology to be uttered.

Any argument between family members held room for neither victor nor loser. All that stood to be gained from it was much pain and regret on both sides, but, with how the current situation played out, neither side was willing to acknowledge the futility of their argument. To do so would be to acknowledge their error, implicitly signifying concession on their part. Though flawed, the beliefs that they each stood for were an integral of part of their being that could not be conceded.

Torrents of pride, anger, and fear convinced both to choose departure as favorable to mending their differences. Without waitinf for another word to be uttered from the girl's lips, Berserker swung the lavishly decorated oak door shut, momentarily drowning out the sound of protest and raindrops with a force that seemed shake the very foundation of the manor itself.


	5. Guilt

**Chapter 5: Guilt **

In defiance of the roaring storm, the lone figure of Berserker marched though the darkened forest, impervious to the power that was smiting the ground with the fury of the wind and lightning. A fierce gale and raindrops battered his menacing frame, but to no avail as he pushed on deeper into the wilderness. He had no destination in mind, simply to wander away until his flames of anger died down.

It was in this setting that his form seemed to gain more of a resemblance to a beast than that of a man, an observation that perhaps bore some grains of truth. The trail of destruction, left in his wake, revealed it so. Trees were fell and uprooted as he carelessly pushed them aside. Bushes and shrubs were trampled underneath his bare feet. Small animals desperately scuttled and scurried away as he carved the path further away from the manor.

The notion of turning back was pondered for only a brief moment, if only for security reasons, but soon was eliminated from the options of immediate necessity. The entire mountain was the Einzberns' backyard. Should an enemy trespass, she would know and, in a similar respect, he would know. It seemed undeniable that Berserker in his current state posed more of a danger to Ilya than the invasion of any imaginary Servant.

He tread forward in the midst of darkness, pushing on into the unexplored depths, but the end of his unplanned exploration came much sooner than he had thought.

Berserker's feet slowed to a halt when it seemed that he had reached the sudden end to the expanse of foliage. With the downpour to obscure his vision and the oozing mud to unsteady the ground, it took him far too long to realize that the ground before him had taken a sharp downward turn, a steep drop nearly thrice his height. With a boulder that stood silently on the top of this earthen mound and a hand to place a firm grip around it, his balance was restored just before he teetered off the edge.

Without the motivation or reason to scale up the muddy surface should he tumbled down Heracles decided to go no further. Regardless, this seemed to finally be a good location to brood, far from any source of interruption. With a grunt, his back was propped against the jagged surface of the boulder for comfort. Though not entirely pleasant, the bitter cold of the surroundings seeped in and dampened the fire that erupted inside him; but ultimately it was time that proved to be the much needed remedy for his anger.

Once he flew into a rage, it would seem that the emotion grow a sentience of its own. Like a wild beast, all active efforts to wrest it under control had only met failure and mockery. The best that could be done was to gradually chip away its foundation, allowing the passage of time to dissipate the beast into nothingness.

In the present circumstance, guilt became a powerful ally to douse the raging emotional wildfire. It was a peculiar sensation. Now without the anger that filling his inside, Berserker felt himself deflate like a hot-air balloon, leaving room instead for regret and shame.

With a hand to knead his aching temple, Berserker reluctantly recalled the sequence of the argument that had taken place not so long ago. No matter what angle he pondered it from, he found that it was impossible to shift the fault away. He himself was to blame.

When pushed to the edge, a cornered animal would just spring up in self-defense, a basic piece of insight for those who were experienced in hunting, yet one that he had overlooked when cornering the girl with his words. Clumsily approached and poorly worded, there was little wonder why she would not heed the advice he opinionated before snapping backward in aggression.

Still, what else could he do? Could he have reached a more persuasive argument had he spared a longer while to mull over his words?

He was no conversationalist. A warrior like him could scarcely adopt the same eloquence or prudence of a philosopher. Unlike the edge of his blade, his words were dull and his mind could not be sharpened with the same ease. His young self was an avid seeker of glory that spared no interest to the finer practices in life. This was where he had to pay the price for that neglect.

Though Berserker clung to the preconceived notion that his poorly designed speech could somehow sway her, the forthcoming deviation from his optimistic outcome shouldn't have been a source of so much surprise or anger. Ilya's fiery retort might have been inappropriate for the circumstances, but it was his final reaction that proved to be unforgivable.

No matter what she had said, no matter the provocation, he bore no right to act like a savage and strike out with force of arm. The event that had transpired reminded him of a cruel reality, one that always lingered at the edge of his mind.

He had resolved to protect Ilya and, yet, his very own hand had nearly been a cause for that oath to be broken. He could only wonder, if the girl had been within his arm's range, would it be her instead of the table that he had struck? Would it her body parts instead of the splinters that he had sent flying?

"…_r"_

This was a question he was reluctant to answer. His inability to say, "it could never be so" with absolute confidence scared him, for he knew full well of the evil that he could and had brought to many innocent souls. His daughter was merely one among the many victims of his brutish strength and temper.

"…_er"_

* * *

><p><em>A sharp crack of wooden stick bore down on the young Heracles' shoulder, along with the mandatory rebuke from his mentor. It was the usual routine. Either he struck the wrong string or played the wrong tempo. His fingers, stiff and callous, were not suited to deftly slither around the instrument. <em>

_When wielded by a man whose purpose of life was lost to the triviality of music, the birch twig failed to inflict even the remotest form of pain. Still, it was an infuriating notion to be struck by the old buffoon, who would not survive should he decide to retaliate. As such, each stroke and incessant nagging only grated his nerves and there was only so much disgrace he could have borne. _

_Venting out his anger, Heracles' grip on the lyre tightened, as if to break the dainty instrument. He saw no purpose in pursuing this vocation, a frivolous skill and a frivolous lesson that could barely begin to satisfy his heart, which above all else sought glory. Indeed, the heart of young Heracles belonged to the training ground and wilderness, where he peerlessly excelled. _

_One final crack of the twig beckoned the torrents of emotion to subsume him. A split second of overwhelming urge and blinding rage induced Heracles to regain his superiority. If he could not excel in this establishment of sophistication and fine art, then he would transform this chamber of music into a sparring ground with him as the aggressor. _

_His right arm swung forth before rationality could seize control. Though equipped with nothing but a small lyre, his Herculean strength was more than sufficient to grant a lethal quality to this poor substitute of a weapon. _

_Unlike the usual crack of a twig, his stroke produced a harsh thump, a sound far less intimidating but, to those who know better, far more deadly. Preceding any sublime melody, this sound of battle was what put his young heart at ease. _

_But it was not a battle-hardened veteran, but an old musician who stood to receive the sheer brunt of his blow, a fact made painfully evident as the frail recipient crumpled to the ground and laid unmoving, ten nimble fingers never again to produce another melody or lovingly strum another string. _

_But, for Heracles, there was not the usual rush of excitement nor the thrill invoked during combat, merely a disappointment and a sinking sensation of an irreversible deed being done. There was no clashing weapon or blade striking forth as counterattack. This was merely a cold and swift murder._

_Still too numb to realize of the gravity of the event that had transpired, it took a few more minutes before Heracles could come to learn the ease in which his hand could take away a human life. For his young mind, it was unforeseen that so drastic a consequence could be resulted from merely a rush of emotion and the swing of a right arm._

* * *

><p>The past rose up to haunt him like a bloody specter. Along with the tales of glory adorning its pages, the legend of Heracles was tarnished by spontaneous acts of violence. Though subverted as the years progressed, this inseparable duality of a hero and a beast was one vice that he could never quite overcome…<p>

"_Murderer…"_

Here it was again, a voice nearly drowned out by the howling of wind. The demon of his conscience condemning the murderer inside. He was well-acquainted with it, always lurking only a short distance away.

It lingered at enough distance to be temporarily forgotten and only resurfaced as his wounds began to mend. It never tired or ceased, incessantly vigilant in searching or facilitating any moment of weakness to consume him, dragging him back to that time of mourning and grief.

The demon, once formless, now seemed to manifest in physical form before him.

"_Murderer…" _it growled, appearing before him in the small faceless figure of a child, broken and bloodied enough for it belong in a grave.

"I was redeemed…"

Surely, this demon had no place in the real worlds for it was born merely a fragment of his mind, an unreal entity. Yet, as it faced the direct brunt of his stern gaze and snorted derisively at his reply, Berserker couldn't help but to retreat from its presence.

"…_You killed me…"_

"The labors redeemed me….Now, begone!"

Facing his rejection, the figure retreated a few steps. Its expression remained indiscernible, but there was an air of superiority that it assumed over him.

"…_.Never forget….Never…Never…Never forget that…_!"

As if obeying his words, it teetered off the ledge and slid down the chasm below, but this was no time for Berserker let down his guard.

"…_You will kill her too…"_

For a moment, icy water ran through his vein with the words that affirmed the fear that inside his heart

"…Never…NEVER!"

Instinct compelled Berserker to step forth and seize broken figure, although the lack of foothold had him plummeted down the height by its side. The fall was of no concern to him, but not so for the girl. His arms moved before his conscious mind could, tucking the girl into safety with his own body as a living shield. Still, his preparation seemed to have been for naught as a soft slosh as the softened mud received his bulky form.

The fall proved to be the final jolt he needed. As if awakened from a nightmare, his vision focused upon the small body cradled protectively within his arms. Bloodstains disappeared from her like a ghastly mist, leaving a girl who was soaked and shivering from the cold but was very much alive.

"Thank you…Berserker"

Though the shock of the fall had yet to subside, her face was fraught with concern for his sake. With her form so frail, it seemed entirely possible that the storm might just carry her away. Her feet had encrusted ankle-deep with mud as she escaped the maids' watchful glance to pursue him through the storm.

Here was Ilya staring at him with her deep expectant eyes.

"…Are you…alright?"

But there was no answer from Berserker.

The bizarre turn of events forced his tattered mind to piece together the sequence of events that had just transpired. The moment of awakening left him with a shame overwhelming that prevented words from being uttered.

…For how long had he mistook that bloody specter for her? How could his eyes have been so blind and his mind so clouded to see that hallucination in her place? Would its grim prophecy come true had he chosen not to heed not the call of instinct and reach out to break her fall? Would it-

"…Berserker!" Ilya repeated with a small pout, now that her question was ignored.

"…I am fine…" Her presence was an anchor that latched him onto reality, repelling the last figments of that nightmare. It would take beyond a heart of stone to not be softened by the sight and, apparently, Berserker hadn't lost his soft core quite yet. "…All is well if you are unharmed."

"…Good." For a moment, Ilya was taken aback by the ease in which the sharp edge of anger was lost from his voice. Relief allowed the breath she was holding to leak out in a small sigh of relief.

'What…are you doing here?"

"To get you home, of course…How long do you think you have gone off into the forest?"

Could it be that she was so distraught by his disappearance that she had to slip through the maid's watchful eyes from the safety of the manor into the stormy forest. True, he was far from being discrete, but it required no small amount of courage to be following the trail of rampage and in the midst of a storm.

…All this, done for the sake of mending their companionship.

There was no more for him to do but to response in kind.

"Forgive me. It was inexcusable that I lashed out."

"Well, I suppose that's fine…" Slightly shaking her head, she quickly added in a mumble, never expecting that she would gain his apology so easily. "… That old dining table was becoming creaky…so I was thinking to replace it anyway…"

Her modest attempt in alleviating his guilt was found to be a surprise, but at the same time an amusing one that revealed a rare sympathetic insight hidden in the shell and gait of a young girl.

Nevertheless, Ilya's temporarily meek self struck him as a stark contrast with the fieriness she'd displayed earlier. Even when bogged down by all his concerns and frustration, Berserker couldn't help but succumbed to a fit of laughter.

"Mmmmm, just what are you laughing at?!" With deep red hue to spread to her ears from the mixture of annoyance and embarrassment, the hysteric roars that echoed through the forest seemed to have turned Ilya back to her peevish self. "What's so funny?!"

"If you can talk as sincerely as you did earlier, perhaps it would much simpler to have this matter resolved."

"D-Don't misunderstand. I just apologized for what I said about you. I still don't…agree with you about Shirou or anything."

And he didn't expect her to do so easily. For now, he should be contented with her response. Time might be against him, but he had learned a valuable lesson from the earlier encounter to not push the girl beyond her threshold.

"No matter, it is best that for us to return. We've already lingered in the wilderness for too long."

"Really and whose bright idea was it to run straight into the forest anyway?"

Berserker chuckled. He had no retort for this other than to lower himself and offer her a hand in response. The girl had done well in pursuing him across the forest. The least he could do was to save her from the hassle of the return trek. Still, he did spare a few seconds to look back over his shoulder, searching every dark corner. It was only when he could see no shifting shadow to pursue them across that forest that he could let out a breath in relief.

"Come, let us be home."

Ilya nodded and allowed him to lift her up in silence. She had her Berserker back and, for now, it was all that matter.

"I'm…sorry."

"So am I…"

Without their judgments being clouded, words of apology were uttered with surprising ease, a notion unfathomable when their mind were chained down by pride and anger. After the brief exchange, their trek back was silent. There was no more to be said or done, but to savor the realization that their difference had been more or less mended.

Unlike what her appearance suggested, Ilya had the sense to keep her head alert out in the wilderness, but the storm was more than an equal match for her. Leaning against the wide expanse of his back, Ilya struggled vainly against exhaustion. Before long, the pitter-patter of raindrops lulled her to sleep.

His mind wandered to the time when he would tuck her back into bed and he slightly chuckled at the thought. Assuming he could find them in the manor, the maids were sure to be in frenzy over their disappeared mistress by now…

The storm eventually died down to a light drizzle. Clouds parted to reveal the face of the moon over a small gap within its formation. Illuminated by its gentle glow, malevolent dark corners in the forest were all but purged away, truly a calm after a storm. In such a setting, the atmosphere soon gained a mystical quality to replace its earlier somberness.

Like the storm, their quarrel had passed. Like a pre-designed puzzle, everything fell into place with an ease that surprised even both of them. Their conflict mended, his doubt absolved, and her stubbornness wavered. As far as he was concerned, all seemed to back to the way they were supposed to be.

Alas, it did foreshadow the final obstacle he had yet to overcome.

Deep within the forest or within the recess of his mind, the voice remained as loud and clear as before, tearing away any naïve notion that it could be repelled with such ease.

"_You will kill her…" _

He forced ignorance upon himself, turning deaf ears to the voice of doubt that cried out from the recess of his mind. However, its last word could not be overlooked with the same ease

"_Father…"_

The same bloodied girl greeted Berserker's eyes as he turned back to search for the source of the voice, sitting on a distant branch with eyes trained upon him like a hawk. A sharp thorn of guilt was lodged in his heart as he ignored her presence and quickened his pace away from the forest.


	6. Foreboding

**A/N: **Just a little background information for those of you who are not so familiar with story of Heracles, the setting of this chapter's flashback during his sixth labor where he was sent to kill the man-eating Stymphalian birds. The part about their toxic dung is true to the legend, although the sequence in the flashback is fictional.

Hope you'll enjoy reading!

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 6: Foreboding<strong>

"Thirty-nine degrees…" Sella's expression visibly darkened as she read the number off the thermometer aloud, wishing somehow for the viscous red liquid to recede from the top of the device. While the number itself held no meaning of significance for Berserker, the disappointment in her tone was contagious.

As a sharp contrast with the fiery little girl who had pursued him into the forest only a day before, Ilya was now wrapped up in blanket with a damp towel pressed against her forehead. No doubt, it was a direct consequence of her yesterday's venture into the forest. Returning exhausted, shivering, and soaked to the bones seemed to be more than her body could handle.

Unlike the heroic spirits whose bodies lacked the fundamental composition of an ordinary human and couldn't be assailed by illness, she naturally collapsed, causing a rightful panic for all three other occupants of the mansion.

Berserker remained at the usual position at her bedside, frustration raging underneath. The fault was partially his to have forced the necessity upon her to run into the forest. His glare pierced through the empty space, partly in a wish to be capable of smiting her illness to smithereens. This intangible adversary was another that he could not overcome and, quite unfortunately, they seemed to lack the sole weapon that could strike its weakness.

What the girl needed was a doctor or at least a good medicine, neither of which was readily available. A small assortment of bottles and pills piled up in a useless clutter on the nightstands to either side. None was effective in treating the symptoms of her acute illness. The castle had been close to being abandoned for years, only hastily restocked and refurbished with the arrival of the new war. It was no surprise to learn that a few articles of necessity could be missing from the supply room.

Had he not feared that her condition would worsen, Berserker reckoned that he could have laid the girl on his back and been halfway to the city by now.

The fact that they were in the middle of a war also could not be handled with blinded eye. While it was true that he would strike down all who intend Ilya harm with the ferocity of Ares himself, exposing the now vulnerable Ilya was to be giving signal of a prime opportunity for every Master out there. As much as he hated to admit, among them were those more devious than to employ direct attack.

The array of knowledge that he possessed might not extend to all the convoluted details regarding the magi arts of hexes, charms, and forcefields, but it was a fairly well-established notion that there were all too many ways that a magus could transform his home into a deadly trap. A magus can only be safest in their home. In this sense, the seeds of disaster could easily be sowed by hasty decisions and lack of vigilance.

"Leysritt, I need to visit the city for medicine. Ideally, the young mistress should be allowed to see a doctor. That is not possible considering the circumstances." Not being one to stand around idly, Sella was the first to take the matter into her own hand. Then with skeptical eyes and critical tone, she turned to address him. "Master Berserker, do try to control your temper this time."

Apparently, there were things damaged in the last night's charade that were far more difficult to repair than the table alone, her trust included. The maid looked as if she wanted to say more, but ultimately decided to against the notion. With a curt bow, she exited the room.

As her footsteps faded from the corridor, Sella's initiative seemed to have left an adverse effect on her colleague. Though the more passive one of the pair, Leysritt too had grown fed up with inaction. Shuffling mechanically from the corner, the anxiety in her eyes soon turned into determination.

"I shall be giving the storage room another search. May I ask you to remain with the mistress until I return?"

"I will go along." Likewise, Berserker was spurred into action, albeit his reasoning took a differing turn from either of the maids. Guilt was a force that he could not ignore as he gave a hesitant gaze in the direction of Ilya,.

"There is no need to trouble you. Just I alone would suffice, and the young mistress needs someone to stay by her side." Leysritt shook her head. Her usual stoic demeanor gave an unintended bluntness to the reply, although it was a quirk that he had gotten used to by now.

Remaining somewhat reluctant, Berserker had no retort to her reasoning, only to expressed his disagreement through a stoic silence. Still regarding himself as the cause of her illness, inaction would only serve to agitate him all the more.

"Please, Master Berserker, she will appreciate having someone to stay beside her. For her sake…"

But, in the end, it was the fear and desperation in her eyes that caused him to cave. Silently accepting the burden of inaction, he heaved a heavy sigh.

"…I'm Ilya's Servant. I shall stay by her side even without your request."

"Please, if there's any change to her condition, let me know…"

Her gaze trailed back toward the room and its occupant, alternating between the bed-ridden girl and the clearly distressed guardian.

"…You need not feel the blame for this, Master Berserker," Leysritt uttered softly, pausing once before the door fully close.

The words of encouragement struck Berserker as a surprising divergence from her usual reserved nature. Nevertheless, he was grateful.

"…Thank you."

However, the lingering pleasantness from the exchange soon faded with the same heavy sensation that hadn't left him since the last night's encounter. Though he was left alone with Ilya, Berserker's senses remained on high alert. Partly to watch for intruding Servants, but more importantly toward the uninvited anomaly that would soon manifest itself whenever he was left alone with the girl. His glance shifted to each corner of the room as if to search for any small telltale sign of its appearance.

The shuffling of blankets drew his attention away from the current apprehension. From the bed, Ilya's right arm fell from the cover as if beckoning him to her side.

A brief moment of hesitation followed.

Still unable to shake off the unease, he nevertheless steeled his mind to inch closer to her, one gradual step at a time.

The signs of illness were all too evident upon her face as he moved closer. Too weak and disoriented to remove the piece of towel that covered her eyes, she groped around the thin air until her hand found a firm and reassuring sensation of his presence. With a certain desperation in her voice, she whispered weakly.

* * *

><p>"…<em>Am I going to die?" <em>

_Heracles could spare no answer but his heavy silence seemed to speak louder than words. There was no help to be received from his hand. Even the mighty Heracles could not wrest her illness into submission. It was an enemy against which neither strength nor wit were found to be effective. _

"_Please…Save us…" _

_The birds of Stymphalus. It had been said that they were a bearer of great plague, but the rumor alone hardly did them justice. Bodies were strewn across the street, abandoned by friends and families in revulsion. The cries of hapless souls that laid weak and afflicted sang dirges for the newly dead, only to follow and join their rank mere moments later. This field of corpses was the birds' banquet table, leaving the weak and the dead to be feasted upon. _

"_Save…us..."_

"_I will. I swear it on my honor."_

_Heracles' lips made the first move before conscience could catch up. Unbeknownst to her, that bloody night robbed him of any shred of honor he might have had remaining. Though he was called as one, before her was no hero, merely a murderer. Yet, he was not without compassion. _

"_Now sleep and you will wake to find that the ordeal is over."_

_A cruel lie, but one that was made for her sake. It was the final act of mercy to appease the soul of this unfortunate girl. _

_She was too weak for words, but a smile of satisfaction was her reply. Both grips slackened; her hand fell off and drooped toward the ground. Her very last reserve of vital energy wasted to make this desperate plea, but it was one that could produce no good to this still warm carcass that was soon to be fed into a collective pyre blazing in the city square. _

_He accepted the sixth labor with a weary heart, but a new flame of determination had been kindled. Here was another soul that he could not save, another girl whose spark of life vanished before his very eyes. Laying the girl's limp arm atop of her now lifeless body, he cursed his own powerlessness in the face of this untouchable adversary. For the very least, he vowed that the winged abominations would pay for their deed._

* * *

><p>The tense expression on Berserker face softened, if only for a moment, as he spoke.<p>

"Don't trouble your mind with that notion, Ilya. You are a strong girl. This illness is far from sufficient to defeat you."

"…You think so…?"

"I have not even the slightest doubt." But his words of affirmation were merely an illusion, empty words uttered without any basis of confidence.

"…Then I'll…make sure…that you're right…" In delirium with fever, she whispered with the best attempt to produce a smile on her face. For Berserker, it was a reaction more than worthy of his unfounded words of comfort.

He laid his hand on the bedpost and leaned down to inspect her condition, but her ragged breathing and flushed face were a sign of anything but reassurance.

His thoughts dwelled on the little girl of Stymphalus, a victim of a death so silent and merciless that he had neither the chance nor the ability to intervene. The resemblance of setups was too uncanny for him to dismiss his worry entirely.

Nevertheless, Ilya was not just any girl. Berserker was certain that his daughter would be much stronger than to be defeated by any common cold…

"…_But she is no daughter of yours, father."_

The same bloodied girl from before looked down upon him from the bed post. Her feet dangled off the edge, swinging nonchalantly in contrast to the current tension in the air. The air of indifference and superiority she assumed grated his nerves.

"Even so, she will make it."

"_She will not live through the night…"_

"She will live. Those lasses will soon return with a cure and her illness will pass." Steeling his mental defenses, Berserker growled at the personification of his deepest fears, only to have it sneer at his feeble attempt in resisting.

"_But you know that it is not the sickness that will kill her, father."_ Floating down from her lofty pedestal, she met his eyes with her dead unfocused pair, which seemed to be radiating pure anger. Her voice was livid and condemning. _"It is you. You and your uncontrollable rage." _

Its lanky arms slithered around his neck, transmitting the coldness of dead for which he was fully at fault.

"_The cause of her death is by your hands and nothing will change it." _

"I shall never commit such an act! Be gone, I am tired of your meddling!" The phantom's words had shaken his resolve. The hand that had reached for the girl stopped dead in its tracks, frozen for a few seconds. Berserker turned to glare at the phantom, hiding the fact that its words had just shaken the foundation of his confidence.

"_What of me then?"_

Its question stilled Berserker's rage and replaced the emotion with a sense of cold dread. The answer did not come easily to him, and neither did he have the courage to say it aloud.

"_You never thought of killing me. Yet, here I am dead and broken_. _Will her fate turn out differently father?" _

"I am no longer the beast I once were. This time…" Doubt and hesitation made his speech falter for a moment. "…It will be different."

"_Then what of last night!"_ The phantom screeched, once again swooping down in front of him and splaying a lock of bloodied white hair as it passed. Its eyes, now in the shade of blood red instead of the earlier steel grey, bore through him in accusation. Here it stood perfectly in the guise of Ilya.

"_This, Father!" _The phantom hissed. _"This is how it will all end!" _

Its final word echoed like thunder. As if bursting from the force of the scream, a torrent of blood gushed forth from the opening in its face like a fountain. The same dainty form that he had held in his embrace was now left battered and broken. Berserker did not have the heart to survey the full extent of her injury, but simply just the white of exposed skull was enough to convey its gruesome story.

"Stay away!"

Berserker was no coward and, ordinarily, it took much more to break him than most men. However, this phantom seemed to have grabbed hold of all his weaknesses. It knew which buttons to push and no secret could be kept from it. It played him like a puppet on a string and he was powerless to resist.

"_No…you stay away…Stay away from her."_

Softness brushed across his arm as the girl struggled to reach for a source of minor reassurance amidst the heat of fever, but all of Berserker's attention was focused on the bedside phantom.

"Berserker…stay."

"_That's right. Stay away." _

The loss of Berserker's presence forced Ilya to expend the precious few energies she had remaining to vocalize her request, but she was too late. His senses were no longer in a state that could heed her desperate call.

"Stay…"

"_Away, father. Away" _

He alternated a few retreating steps with a look upward at the bloodied child on the bed post. As if knowing what he desired, she reassured him of the decision. The phantom's voice, though broken and rasping, was strangely bewitching, enslaving him to follow its command.

"Berserker…"

"_Away, father. Stay away. Don't let her blood be on your hands…" _

The ghastly whisper drowned out Ilya's plea and, with it, any hope of having him return to her side. The maids would soon return to attend to her every need and render his presence unnecessary. Indeed, Berserker forced himself to be convinced that there would be no more reason for his stay. Such was how he had to rationalize his gradual retreat from her bedroom. Otherwise, his mind would soon be wracked by guilt as he emerged out into the corridor.

He contemplated returning, thinking of how she could sleep with greater ease with him standing next to her. However, it wasn't long before Berserker was snorting derisively at his own optimism. As if she could actually be cured by his presence alone. If anything, his presence would merely intimidate her. This was no risk she should not be subjected to, a risk taken for no more than his peace of mind.

Even so, it couldn't eliminate a sinking sensation that accompanied the lack of familiar warmth in his arms. There was but a simple realization why he couldn't provide Ilya with the peace of mind she desired, although it wasn't any easier to accept.

After all, it seemed he had never been a good father for her. Without arguing for his case, Berserker conceded to this moment of silent epiphany that, once again, he had abandoned his duty as a father.

* * *

><p>Ilya's hand stretched forth as if trying to seize the empty space where her colossal guardian had occupied merely moment ago. Grasping only thin air, sharp pangs of disappointment assailed her.<p>

"Please…this time….I'll give him another chance…" Half in delirium, half in regret, she mumbled.

Mistaking the cause of his cold demeanor as her own fault, Ilya came to regret the fact that she had not bent to his earlier suggestion. She saw reason in his words, but pride had prevented her from acting upon it.

But, now laying bed-ridden, the fear of death had rid her of the all the excessive emotions, returning her to a mental state subsumed by simple desire and regret. It drew her to dwell on their lingering attachment and pinned new resolve to make amend for past mistakes. At least, with fever to wrack her mind, the hope of recovery just seemed to have grown even more distant with Berserker's unexpected departure.

"I will so…please…"

But her plea fell on deaf ears. Still with tears in her eyes, the heat of fever and fatigue numbed her mind for an uncomfortable sleep that soon followed.

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><p>Thanks for reading. I greatly appreciate any form of comments, reviews, or opinions, so please leave some if you don't mind so that I can use them to improve the future chapters. Thanks!<p> 


	7. Rebellion

**Chapter7: Rebellion **

A few nights were all she needed to for the storm of illness to pass and for full recovery to be made. Even with the body composition of an ordinary human, the resilience of an Einzbern homunculus did pull through and hasten her victory over the microscopic intruders. So much so that all the worries of the earlier day just seemed excessive.

If there was anything that she wasn't quite so pleased with, it was the fact that Berserker's presence had all but disappeared during the duration of her recovery. With the command spells emblazoned across her body, she could be certain that no harm had befallen him. Nevertheless, the realization only fed the flames of her displeasure.

He wasn't beside her for a reason and she was dying to know why.

Perhaps it was the very presence of this thought that imbued her with the strength to kick away the downy blanket on the morning of the third day. She had her share of being confined to the bed, initially with the illness, and later with the maids' fits of overprotection.

But hunting even the giant of a man down the corridor of their castle was no easy feat with all the interconnecting passageways and the myriad of unused rooms that were scattered about. Despite his size, Berserker certainly knew how to be elusive at times.

Still, it appeared that luck was not on his side. With a devious giggle, Ilya followed the lingering trace of the prana pathway that connected the two of them. Feeling herself likened to a great hunter tracking a prey, she bolted from door to door. His presence grew closer with each room crossed. A final twist of a door knob had her out on the balcony where his rigid form stood on the perch like a gargoyle.

The sight of him had Ilya stop for a second. In front of her was not the usual Berserker she knew. Though there were semblances, this man who was cornered on the side of the dining room seemed to have aged a good ten or more years within the span of a few nights.

Seemingly occupied with his thoughts, the giant hadn't noticed her approach. The setting and the sight of him in such a state invoked a wave of nostalgia that came rushing in. It was not often that she would see the figure of an adult so forlorn and driven to the corner.

She could only think of the one time she had.

* * *

><p><em>In the world of pristine white, a family of three huddled close together in their best effort to brave the bitter cold. The frosted balcony they leaned on gave the perfect vantage of the snowy forest below. Squeezed besides her parents, a quivering sob could be heard from the child's lips.<em>

_It was only a natural reaction. Soon, her two most precious persons would walk away even further beyond the edge of the forest she could see on the distant horizon. It was a sentiment that they all shared, although the adults, through years of experience, were taught to be more adept at masking their emotions. _

"_Don't cry. I'll be back for you." _

_Turning back to face her, the man's gentle hand caressed her cheek. A gentle touch to wipe away the droplets of her tears. _

"_I'm not crying…"The child shook her head slightly, giving her best effort to withhold the sobs and overflowing tears. _

_A wry smile was shown on the man's face; just the usual small tug at the corner of his lips. Though at times a cause of annoyance, it was her usual stubbornness that made him feel at home. _

"_Be a strong girl, alright? Daddy will come back for you soon." Another female joined in to say her goodbye. A wide smile was plastered across her face to ease the pain of separation. _

_It was difficult to glean signs of sorrow from the man's stoic exterior and the woman's false cheerfulness, but the child knew. She simply chose not to voice out her observation. _

_In the castle of winter where even human hearts seemed to be left frozen, any scarce sources of familial warmth were something to be cherished. With nothing else left to say, they simply relished in each other's warmth and tenderness until the moment departure…_

* * *

><p>She shook her head to clear off the lingering sentiment. This was no time to be subsumed by the emotions of such a long distant past. She had an issue to address and she wasn't about to waste this opportunity.<p>

"Berserker!"

Upon his name being called, the giant turned toward her in surprise, partly expecting her to be confined to the bedroom for days to come.

"Where were you?"

A few seconds passed with him failing to produce an answer, and she was not about to wait for him to make one before continuing her accusation.

"You weren't here last night…and the night before…and even the night before that." Her lips puckered and her cheeks puffed. Traces of her displeasure were evident and he had no proper excuse to thwart it. "…After I asked you to stay so many times. I really asked you so many times, you know?"

"I…" His voice faltered. Telling lies, even a partial one, was not something ingrained within his nature, but during that moment it was a necessary evil that he had to condone. "…I was scouting the perimeter for threat. It is all the more important to proceed with vigilance when you are vulnerable"

"It wouldn't hurt to drop by afterward…" Ilya sulked, still not completely convinced by his reasoning. Nevertheless, she seemed to have lost the heart to keep up the argument and ended in a quivering voice, "…I was really worried, you know…Really really worried…"

Berserker heaved a small sigh toward the direction that their conversation was heading. He was a pushed to a dead end, but an honest answer was not one that could be easily given. While it was not his intention, recounting his encounter with the phantom would merely generate more of her worry.

"I have no more to offer other than an apology." After a heavy sigh, Berserker finally conceded to the eventual stroke of honesty, not knowing how she would react to it.

The girl was quick to anger, almost dangerously so. Her forgiveness was rarely earned in so short a time and often with string attached. That much would be apparent just from the grudge she bore toward her brother. That was not the case with him, however.

Turning away, she stopped short for a moment. A stream of complaints and tantrums was held back. A brief moment of recalling yesterday's regret had her face momentarily lose the traces of anger, as she mumbled softly.

"…Well, it's fine. I forgive you."

"Are you certain?" The three words she had said struck Berserker as a surprise, even if they did ease the frown on his face.

Despite her faults, there were certain sides of Ilya that she would only show toward him. Some were endearing, the others could turn out to be annoyances at times. Today seemed to one of those days that she feels exceedingly generous.

"I said I forgive you and that's that. Why don't you just be happy and accept it?" Spinning on her heels, a carefree smile touched Ilya's face as she turned to face him.

As if in response, he let out a chuckle and his right hand was spurred forward by her usual cheerfulness. It stretched forward, extending above her head, but it moved no further, admittedly a poor gesture on his part.

"Berserker…" Ilya warned. Her eyes narrowed in annoyance.

But it was not her sharp glare that had him rooted to the spot. A lingering trace of fear and uncertainty was what slowed his hand to a standstill.

"My bad." Against the increasingly grim premonition, Berserker quickly retreated behind his facade and replied with an even tone. His hand swiftly retracted to his side as to not attract anymore of her displeased glare.

Ilya was never fond of having her head caressed, not by him and much less so by anyone else. She regarded it an embarrassment to be indulging herself in such a childish gesture. She desired no less than the others, to be treated like an adult and, needless to say, she loathed reliance on the adult presences in her life.

Her appearance and her fits of temper, however, made it unlikely for others to treat her as such, never knowing that a small caress here and a whisper there would only incite her rage.

A long time had passed since she was a child whose goal was merely to demand affection and attention. The sensation of his hand might have lingered, and added to her loneliness for years to come, but she had already overcame that childish fault. Now it would only be fitting to regard her as an adult, one that could make her own decision without being reliant on anyone else, although that was not to say she wouldn't indulge herself in taking Berserker along.

Her confidence grew and her whimsical side kicked in to render the earlier displeasure all but forgotten in mere moments. With a dear lesson learned from the few days spent without him, Ilya knew better than to prolong her sulking and soon reverted to her usual cheerful self.

"Why don't you take me to the city, Berserker? I'm bored to death after staying in the bedroom for so long."

He accompanied her once. There was no reason to doubt that he would do so again.

* * *

><p>"<em>Why can't I come with you…?" The child sulked, repeating the question that had been answered many times before. It was not an answer that she sought but sympathy. <em>

_Seeing through her intentions, the man let out a chuckle and gave one last endearing rub on the crown of her head. Then it was time for the couple to set out into the bitter cold and wilderness. _

_Her heart, still filled with childish innocence, found no reason to doubt the complexity of an adult's mind, especially of those that she loved. Though pained from their departure, her trust in them was unwavering. The small perch on the balcony gave her a full view of them as they left the vicinity of the castle. _

_With slow trudging steps, they plowed through the field of snow into the vehicle ahead that would whisk them further away than she could imagine, only stopping once to give her a cheerful wave. _

_Never once did she suspect that it would be the last…_

_The last of that gentle hand…_

_The last of that dazzling smile…_

_The last time she had ever feel the joy of a true family._

_Years passed and her heart gradually became closed, waiting and waiting for the two presences that filled her with the warmth that could thaw her frozen soul. _

_To eternity if need be, the child convinced herself to continue waiting…_

* * *

><p>But he shattered her childish delusion with no more than a stern shake of his head.<p>

"That will not do. My duty is to secure the perimeter. It is best that we avoid unnecessary risk." Tension erased the usual gentle tone from his voice, one that he adopted when conversing with Ilya.

The phantom remained at rest for now and the lack of its presence allowed his lungs to be filled with breath of relief. Still, should he linger with her, he was certain that it would soon appear.

"Take more rest. You're still recovering." Berserker shook his head wearily as if to get rid of the lingering apprehension. It might be better for them both if he would just retreat out of sight for the time being. Wasting no time to make up his mind, Berserker extracted himself from the scene with, before it would deem any more of her warning to be necessary.

Ilya, however, did not seem to be sharing his opinion, and his reluctance to remain in her presence didn't go unnoticed.

"Are you avoiding me?" Ilya stepped in to block his path. Always the type to be upfront with her grievances, she wasted no time in confronting him about the matter.

"I am merely doing my duty…" Apparently not in any mindset to be prolonging the conversation, Berserker simply lifted her dainty form away from his path

"Berserker…what's wrong?" Sensing his tension, Ilya voiced out her concern.

"Nothing is wrong. Just rest for today. It would not do for you to fall in any future battle. " With a firm intonation in his voice, Berserker silenced all of her incoming protests. Although the girl was clearly left displeased, he steeled himself and promptly left without so much as a gaze backward.

As quickly as it had disappeared moments earlier, Ilya regained the pout on her face. More than a little irked by his avoidance, her temper flared. While there was no fault with his reasoning, the unusual restlessness gave it away to her that something was indeed amiss.

Alas, she was no longer in any mindset to be finding out.

"Fine! I won't ask you then!" Screaming at the now empty hallway, Ilya stomped into her room.

She was no longer the child she once was. She was no longer powerless and reliant upon the presence of an adult. In this war, she stood as an individual magus, fully capable of accomplishing many feats on her own.

"Liars…All of them." Mumbling bitterly, she took another backward look at the doorway in which he'd just disappeared with a scornful gaze.

Anger fed the flame of her determination and lessened her worry. A newly hatched scheme was pieced together in her mind, perfected during the time she spent confined under the blanket and soon to be ready to be put to work. It was a plan of exceeding importance for her such that she would not allow his absence be a deterrence.

"I won't wait for you this time…"

With or without him, she would succeed.


	8. Hesitation

**Chapter 8: Hesitation**

The course of another peaceful evening had Ilya lazing in her room as always. However, unlike ordinary days, there was another soul in her room to share in this brief moment of respite. The two occupants sat side by side, warmed by the nearby fireplace. The two cups of tea on their respective table were left untouched, but neither seemed willing to raise the now cold and stale drink to their lips. Instead, they simply seemed to settle for staring upon each other.

"This is a little awkward, isn't it?" the girl started with a small giggle, her face flushed in excitement.

The space within Ilya's bedroom was arranged to accommodate the very first guest to the Einzbern manor. The warmth of the fire and a soft childish laughter gave the room its usual homely atmosphere, but careful scrutiny would reveal a much more gruesome truth behind this seemingly innocent setup.

Under the facade of a childish gameplay was a real captive, bound and gagged. Yet, it was a setting that brought Ilya much delight, for here within the safety of her room the struggling form of Emiya Shirou could be seen. His two wrists securely tied to the armrest of her Victorian chair like a grim version of children playing house.

"So we are finally alone, Shirou. Talk with me for a bit."

For the first time, she had the chance to carefully observe the youth who had stolen her father away.

The ease of the successful capture that had taken place only a few hours ago surprised even her. While she believed him to be a fool, it was improbable to anticipate him being one to such a severe extent. Locating, convincing, capturing, none was to be of particular difficulty for he'd chosen to have wandered the city without the protection of his Servant.

While she might be guilty on the same account from time to time, her childish façade and mystic eyes made for a dangerous combination for those who slackened their guard. Apparently from the fact that he was now within her grasp, it was a fault he was most guilty of.

"What does it feels like to have your life in my hand?"

Running her pale hand across his defiant face to remove the mouth cover, Ilya giggled. The gratifying feeling of victory washed over her, coursing through the entirety of her small body. Here she was within the manor, gloating over the man tied and gagged inside her room, a product of her hard work, not of anyone else's but her own.

There was an unsettling air about her. The malevolent will of an adult hidden under layers of childish vivaciousness made for a disturbing combination. With two perched up ears, she waited for his reply, reaching for her inner magic energy as if teasing herself to the possibility of taking his life in this very moment.

But he never answered her question and his response was not made with fear or anger as she had anticipated. What she saw in his eyes was neither fear nor obedience, and it left her frozen to the spot

She could reach for her magic and end him in this room, absolving the grudge that had been bottled inside her for so many years. Yet, she couldn't find heart to follow through. A slight pang of hesitation soon clouded her original determination.

"..A girl like you shouldn't be joining this war in the first place," he said with a hint of genuine sorrow for her sake. Though with different phrasing, his words only convey the message over and over again. "It's just too cruel."

It was strange, all of it. She had him in her hands, helpless as a newborn babe. His life rested on her whim and no more than a small squeeze was all that was require to extinguish it.

"I'm not a girl…I'm an adult now." Growling in her throat, Ilya tried to shut him up with her glare, albeit without much success. That only made it all the more aggravating to see the look in his eyes as he spoke. It was indeed a mistake to grant him to opportunity to talk, for his words caused her hesitation.

Such a foolishly naïve person couldn't truly exist in this world. The boundary of selflessness could only be stretched so far and, when brought to such extremity, a man would have no choice but to revert to his selfish core. Yet, the very existence of this man before her seemed to be a living contrast to that very notion.

Shallow, naïve, and condescending, he didn't even know how the war itself was supposed to operate, yet where did he find the gall to teach her?

Either way, she'd won. It was her victory from any possible viewpoint. Yet, from where did her mental conflict originate? From where did the opposition emerge and manage to grow to this extent?

"Annoying! Annoying…! It's all just so annoying!" The conflict raging deep inside made her throw a small temper fit as a child would. A part of her conscience gave rise to hesitation and, in turn, hesitation caused inaction.

She clenched her teeth in frustration. Why was it that any encounters she had were bound to end with condescendence? From where did all of them attain the rights to preach to her about morality and idealswhen none of them had any idea what she went through in the first place?

Nevertheless, just why…Why was it that she couldn't make herself turn deaf ears to their words?

The questions were all too numerous and their answers were beyond the thick fog of unknowing that she could not pierce through.

"It's just too pitiful for you, Ilya…" He looked at her straight in the eyes, filled with such an irrational compassion, never wavering or wandering away. Within his voice, she found an unyielding determination, somewhat softened by idealism. His quality was one with such uniqueness that she'd only seen before in Emiya Kiritsugu. Indeed, it was no mistake to say that the two men bore an uncanny resemblance.

And it was thawing her frozen heart…

"So would you mind telling me why did you to kill me in the first place? Let's talk it out." Shirou remained firm in his stance. His conviction in resolving their difference was nothing short of genuine and his determination left no room for doubt.

Ilya could not stop her weaker self from succumbing to his presence and the story of her plight began to flow like water from sluice gate. Details of her life only told to selected few now being laid bare before this man, who was no more than a complete stranger…

* * *

><p><em>The sound of wry laughter accompanied the gentle hand that stroked her head. <em>

_His condescending voice irritated her, making her feel bogged down by childishness. _

_Her thin arms pulled the man's sleeves in a desperate attempt to stop him from leaving._

_Perhaps she would never be more than a helpless child to him, but she was no longer satisfied with helplessness. _

"_I'll go with you…I'll help," the child repeated, not knowing the meaning that her words entailed. "Really! I can fight!" _

"_That's not right, Ilya."_ _His stern rebuke was somewhat softened by sympathetic eyes. "Your place is not within the theater of war. Your hands are not meant to be dirtied." _

_She frowned at his words and arguments were resting on the edge of her lips. Her youthful mind could not revolve around the notion. She could not force herself to understand why her father would want to fight and kill when it was obvious that he seemed to be in pain._

"_We are fighting so that you would never have to fight…so that the world may never again knows evil." _

_The man's gazed lingered forlornly on his right hand, washed over by a wave of nostalgia and sorrow, but regret was never a part of the expression that twisted his face. Walking too far down this road of his life, he believed that his actions were justified…or at least he would like to convince himself so._

_The girl fell silent in that short moment when her father seemed to have transformed into a stranger she barely knew. _

_He offered no further explanation, but the knowledge of the burden that he bore and the sin that he gathered eventually dawned upon her mind. _

"_It would be too sad, Ilya," the man mumbled, holding her tight. "It would be too sad for you to have to fight." _

_Part of her was swayed by his words and a part still remained haughty and unconvinced. Nevertheless, she knew that her feeble attempt to convince him had ended fruitless as the man continued along his path. _

_In her short life, filled with adoration and loving care from her parents, it was the first time that she was overwhelmed with such a wave of disappointment. _

_And there was no more she could do but to let him walk away._

* * *

><p>With one hand in front as if grasping her lingering shadow, Berserker stood guard at the end of the main hallway.<p>

Exhausted from defeat and dashed hope, the day went by quickly for him, after greeting him with a swift disappointment. Events transpired without his knowledge and outside the scope of his vigilance. As a participant of this bloody ritual, he was prepared for any threat that would approach Ilya, but there was little he could to do prevent her from walking herself into the midst of the warzone.

She insisted on her decision with unyielding forcefulness that he could not resist and neither was he heartless enough to allow her to march off toward certain death in the city. He could barely imagine how a girl of her lean stature would have fared against the other Servants, much less kidnapping a Master back to their dwelling. Still, as luck would have it, things seemed to have fallen in place with surprising ease on her side, such that he had not the opportunity to show himself after discretely trailing after her entire trek, only to stop and remain at the entrance hall.

He had not the heart to witness the remainder of how this gruesome play would unfold within the closed door of her room, partly because he hadn't the heart to witness the fruit of his failure, partly because he was entitled to the duty of a Servant. At the very least, he was determined to see the remaining task through.

Berserker gave a wry mocking laugh at his earlier optimism. After all, he did anticipate this outcome from the very beginning. He merely lost a gamble against overwhelming odds and, though vexing, there was no more to do than to silently accept defeat. Indeed, it now seemed apparent that his desperate opportunity for salvation had vanished with the sudden malice that seemed to govern the course of actions she'd adopted.

The sound of a commotion approached from the forest beyond, crossing through the distance with a swiftness that seemed to be impossible for all but beings whose very components were not of this world. No doubt, she would soon be here to reclaim what had been stolen from her.

"_How commendable…so you deem that your labor should be continued regardless…"_

The phantom lingered around him, although sharp disappointment and dashed hopes made its presence somewhat more tolerable. Without a lofty goal to be accomplished, there was no longer a need for him to struggle against the prospect of failure, but simply to wallow in a crushing wave of despair.

"Though I have failed to protect her innocence, I am still to safe guard her life. This is the duty that I shall not fail." His efforts in preventing her from repeating his mistakes might have ended as a wild goose chase, but even so he was determined to see her marching through the path of corpses to emerge as the sole victor of the war.

The front gate trembled, signaling him to cut off any impending emotion in the face of the duel that would soon be upon him. A flurry of blades struck like a roaring storm, breaking the reinforced wooden layer through to reveal a lone figure of the knight.

"Berserker…" Saber temporarily ceased her advance once she had come to realize his presence.

Descending the staircase one step at a time, Berserker kept his eyes trained on her movements and kept his stance ready to retaliate should she decided to be the one to initiate the offensive.

This time, however, such thoughts that no longer existed in Saber's mind. It was exactly because there was too much at stake that she could not afford to fail. Agitation and blind grasp on initiative had cost her dearly during their last encounter, blunder that she could not afford to repeat with Shirou's life at stake.

"Come then, Saber. Here's to our second duel."

"Do not think that the result will be similar to the last time, Berserker…" Saber narrowed her eyes, intending to completely erase the earlier disgrace she'd suffered at his hands.

"I shall make my judgment when our blades cross." Berserker concluded, similarly preparing for the duel with a stance of his own.

The air became fully charged with tension as the two warriors waited for the other to be the first to make their move…for a duel that would never come.

"Saber! Stop!"

"Berserker! That's enough!"

Two voices simultaneously called for a premature end of the duel as the two Servants simultaneously turned toward their respective Master.

Still frowning with displeasure, Ilya nevertheless beckoned Shirou to return to his Servant.

"You can have him back. I'm tired of playing around."

Needless to say, Saber was left dumbfounded at what seemed to her like a great windfall on her side. Nothing seemed to click together and the tide seemed to be reversed with a surprising ease.

Naturally, the knight's fair face was laced with concern and skepticism. Her mind wandered to various possibilities of plots and schemes that they unwittingly were a part of.

"Shirou, did she do anything to you?"

"I'm fine. We just had a talk." Though his face was somewhat ridden with fatigue, Shirou otherwise showed no sign of any other ails that might be plaguing him.

It was only after confirmation was properly given in his reply that Saber could allow herself to expel a breath of relief, although her suspicion did not waver in the slightest.

"Why, Ilyasviel? Why have you chosen to release him?"

"Hmph, I'm just not in the mood anymore." Taking a seat on the balcony railing, she cast an annoyed glance at them. "Just leave."

"Uh, yeah…thanks for that, I don't know how I should-"

"Didn't you hear what I said, or should I ask Berserker to chase you away?" Cutting Shirou off in the middle, Ilya grumbled and issued a threat of her own.

"No, that's quite alright. We'll just show ourselves out." With a nervous laugh, Shirou quickly excused himself. Adding Berserker to the negotiation table only made concession to her demand all the faster.

For a moment, it seemed as if she was ready to revoke her decision and order Berserker to track down the two escapees. Her lips parted and closed, but no sound was produced.

The conflict remained inside her, and the battlefield inside her mind was still smoldering, but it already seemed apparent which side had gained the upper hand. Berserker's gentle whisper was what pushed her beyond the tipping point.

"It is all good. Let it go."

"Hmm…" Making a quiet sound in agreement, Ilya stilled her arms and instead watched the scene with silent acceptance.

It was only until after two receding figures disappeared from the front gate that the mental strain had Ilya crumpled to the floor. Her knees buckled, no longer capable of supporting her own weight, and her dainty frame began quivering slightly with the rush of emotion.

She looked at Berserker with sad questioning eyes, longing for someone to affirm her decision and offer an explanation to fill the void that was growing inside.

"I hate him so much…but why?"

As a father, Berserker was gripped with a sense of both failure and pride. While he was grappling with his own past, the girl in his care had prevailed against the specter that threaten to subsume her conscience with malice, a victory greater than any of his feats.

"_Don't, father…"_ Alas, this was one fight that would never go smoothly for Berserker. She occupied the small stretch between them, preventing his advance like a formidable rampart.

The phantom…the broken girl…the victim of his hands…

His very own daughter…

"_Don't…"_ it hissed in the hope of frightening him away as before, but this time he was different.

He was emboldened by Ilya's presence. They empowered one another, sharing in strength, the father to his daughter and, in turn, the daughter to her father.

She had made her initiative, so it was now his turn to replicate her success. With a muffled grunt of effort, Berserker pushed the phantom out of his way. The sickly sensation of cold human flesh seeped in and spread through his right hand.

Yet, he pushed on, groping blindly through the emptiness until his hand landed on her. He grasped that light at the end of overwhelming darkness, a real shoulder with flesh, blood, and human warmth. It was an anchor that latched him to reality and dispelled the illusion from his mind.

"It's all your fault…"

Blood and death was no more. Before him was an ordinary girl who had been driven to tears by emotional turmoil. Concealing his mental strain and heavy breathing, Berserker gloated over his victory for fleeting moment.

"…You put a strange idea in my head…now I can't kill Shirou anymore."

Small droplets rolled down her cheek, compelled not by sadness but by regret and the unfulfilled anger that had been repressed for nearly a deçade. Her sobs echoed in the now empty hallway, but otherwise she did not raise an objection as Berserker's right hand gently stroked her hair.

"…I just can't do it anymore…"

"Revenge is not your nature, Ilya. Your hands were not meant to be dirtied. " This fatherly pride was a shield that allowed him to stand firm even under the phantom's hateful glare. "Your hands were not made to hold a sword, not against your family, not against anyone else."

"I'm such a child, aren't I? It was so close, but I can't do it…It was just so close."

"You've grown much to reach that conclusion." Berserker slowly shook his head. "I'm proud of you, Ilya."

"Mmm, you should be…It wasn't easy…"

It was only in this moment of vulnerability that she would allow herself to be soothed by such a demeaning gesture. In truth, she derived much comfort from his hand and pride from his compliment, but it was a secret that she would never tell a soul.

"I know…" he grunted in reply with an understanding that did not stem from any attempt to sympathize, but painfully derived from his own failure. Defeating the shadow of the past was no easy feat to accomplish.

For that, he had all the right in the world to be proud of her.

"Trust me, I know."

* * *

><p><strong>AN**: Hope you enjoyed the new chapter. It's only a few chapters to the ending now. As always, any review or comments would be great!


	9. Surprise Visit

**Chapter 9: Surprise Visit**

"Good evening, Shirou."

A simple greeting after the doorbell ring at the Emiya Household was the start of all the ensuing chaos and questioning. The arrival of the two strangers was greeted by Shirou with much surprise and Saber with much wariness.

The girl had only one sole purpose of making this distant trek across the expanse of the forest and the city. Her eyes were set on Shirou with a mocking glint within.

"Hehh, so you're still alive. A pity, I thought someone else would have finished you off already."

Unplanned and unnecessary tension seemed to erupt as soon as the last word left Ilya's mouth, but the intimidating swish of a steel blade from the ever-wary Saber only managed to earn an exasperated sigh from Berserker.

"What is it that you want, Illyasviel? Have you come to settle the score for good?"

"Ilya…"

"…Fine, I get it," Ilya responded, tossing Berserker a dirty look for his chiding. "Shirou, for today, we'll…talk."

With a smile to welcome the sudden loss of tension, Shirou decided to lend his aid to the effort of defusing the current situation. His right hand firmly clutched very edge of Saber's gauntlet, refusing to let go. While he was far from being her match in a competition of strength, the gesture did manage to convey his determination.

"Saber, you too. Let's just put away that sword."

"Are you sure, Shirou? I hope this won't end with your capture, like before," Saber responded with a cold stare upon her Master.

Evidently, his capture and release during the last few days had done a number on her trust in his ability to fare against the other Masters. She would already have had him tied down to the house, if she had not only refrained for decency's sake.

"…Yeah, this time I'm sure it won't…" Steeling himself through her merciless glare, Shirou could barely maintain his demeanor. Against someone who had attained the rank of Heroic Spirit, it certainly was not an easy feat to be holding his ground.

A few seconds passed after their test of conviction, before Saber finally caved.

"Very well…But I expect you to be on guard and be accompanied at all times. I will not settle for any less than that, Shirou." With a weary shake of her head, Saber conceded and lowered her sword. Her armor dematerialized, leaving the knight in her casual wear.

A careful observation, however, would reveal that, while her hostility was toned down, her guard had not slackened in the least.

"Understood…I realize I'm no longer in any position to make demands." Any jab Shirou intended to make about Saber's zealous overprotection was soon swallowed as he noticed veins bulging on her forehead.

"This is all for your own good. At least try to understand that much."

Instead of narrow suspicious eyes, Saber was treating him to a piercing glare as if she was attempting to bore a hole through him with her gaze. Even if he should survive today's meeting with Ilya, he couldn't say the same for the earfuls after earfuls of dissent that he would be subjected to in a near future.

"…Well, anyway, come on in." Turning away from the source of an overwhelming pressure behind him, Shirou beckoned his guests to enter.

"Excuse us…" Apparently, the entryway was not made to accommodate a man with Herculean stature and the floor creaked terribly with his every step, but the girl was keen on having him as a part of the discussion and would not settle for any less.

However, none of those details entered Shirou's mind even as they sat in the common room for the discussion that followed. His gaze only lingered on the girl that took the seat across him, who was observing the house that he'd inherited with great interest…A house that by right of birth should have been hers.

Their first meeting was only a few days ago during the course of the war, but deep inside he felt that he knew the girl from before. Her presence triggered a small hint of nostalgia, a memory he had forgotten until recently...

* * *

><p>"<em>A girl, dad?" The child looked up at his father, eyes wide with interest. <em>

_The grizzled man raised his eyebrow. It was one of the rare occasions where his inner thoughts slipped through his usually careful tongue and into the boy's inquisitive ears. Unfortunately, there was nothing to stop the youthful mind from latching on to the topic with interest. _

"_Who is she?" _

"_It's nothing you have to worry about, Shirou…Sorry for confusing you…" The entailing story was one that the father had not meant for his son to hear. It was unbecoming to corrupt the boy's innocence with the tales of bloodshed and complexities that would surely be lost upon his young and naïve mind. _

"_It's a little difficult to tell you now, so how about we wait until you are older?" _

_But that alone was not enough to quench the child's interest. The lingering spark of intrigue in his eyes did soften the father's earlier stance. _

"_Well, if you really want to know all that much, I suppose it would be accurate to call her your sister…would it?" _

"_Sister…?" The child mumbled the word with keen interest, thrilled by prospect of having another to join their household. _

_But the father was not sharing in his enthusiasm. If anything the topic of their conversation only seemed to have left him wearied and distraught…_

* * *

><p>It was well into the day before the disbelief could be eased from Shirou's face and the suspicion from Saber's, after few hours of past stories and explanation to shed some light on the life of a man whom they had only marginally known till that point.<p>

The conversation took turns drifting between Shirou and Ilya. While the bitterness eventually receded through their discourse, the same awkwardness remained.

Silently observing them was Berserker, who would rather have the two speak on their own. In the current situation, Saber also deemed it best to withhold her tongue. While it was true that she had much to say about Kiritsugu, this seemed neither an appropriate time nor place to be voicing her objections.

"Father died soon after. He was…weak." Searching for words to describe Kiritsugu's condition, Shirou could only settle on one that he couldn't help but feel was grossly insufficient. "He spent his last year confined to the house."

"Mmm…" An episode of turmoil and regret briefly washed over Ilya as the side of the story that she'd never known gradually unfolded. Other than a soft growl of displeasure, she beckoned him to continue.

"He talked about this girl he left behind and how he wished he could bring her back." While it was not an entirely accurate retelling of the past, Shirou believed that Kiritsugu would have feel the same, even if the man himself would never allow anyone so as much as catch a glimpse of the turmoil inside him. "He probably missed you, Ilya."

Steeling his resolve, Shirou rephrased his words to iron out all doubts. Truth or not, it would be too cruel to leave her in the realm of possibility.

"No, I'm sure he missed you…"His words were simple, but they left a profound effect as the last word rang.

For Ilya, it was a bittersweet realization to know of her father's lingering affection. Yet, it did deepen the void in her heart and the unanswered question of his decision not to return to her.

The turmoil of rising emotion had Ilya caught inside it. Initially unbeknownst to her, droplets began to roll down her cheeks. She struggled to maintain composure with vain attempts to wipe the tears away from her face faster than her eyes could produce them, although her eyes seemed to be more honest that her mouth.

"I'm not crying…"Ilya remained firm in her denial and broke in a protesting fit before anyone else could object. "I said I'm not crying! There's just too much dust in this old house!"

"It's alright. Let it all out." Berserker's right hand covered the girl's head like a grotesque hat as he gave her a reassuring rub.

Even so, Ilya would never come to accept such a demeaning gesture from either of them.

"Enough of that, Berserker," she scolded, causing the giant to playfully remove his hand, then turned toward Shirou. "And don't think that you made me cry…Also, don't you start smiling! It's not like I've forgiven you yet"

"Sorry, maybe I was being too hopeful as well…"

"Well, it'll make me feel bad if you make that face after all, so…" Her red cheeks puffed up in displeasure and embarrassment, but there was no more malice to reside in her childish expression. "I'm giving you another chance that's all. Just another chance…"

"It's fine. We have the time to take it slow. Even with father, it took me quite some time to get used to him." With a simplicity of mind shared by few, her change of mind alone was enough to promptly brighten up his face, although his relief might have come too soon.

"Hmph," Ilya retorted. Her anger flared for a moment. "At least, you get to spend time with him after the war! He abandoned me! He abandoned me for you!"

"That's not it, Ilya." With an uncharacteristic sternness to his voice, Shirou cut off her protest in the middle. He might not have know the Kiritsugu from back then, but he believed that her accusation had hardly done justice the man who had bestowed upon him a new life. Naturally, his anger flared for a moment before dying down just as quick.

Having sensed the growing sense of authority in her brother, Ilya was brought to a temporary silence.

"That's just not true…"

* * *

><p><em>The man was reduced a moment of speechlessness, never managing to anticipate his young son's initiative in the matter, but even the lack of reaction on his father's part had failed to diminished the child's enthusiasm. <em>

"_Dad, dad, I said it'll be great if she can also come to live with us." __The child repeated his offer with__ a full smile on his face, entertaining himself with the notion of having a sibling he'd never known of. "Where is she, dad? I'll bring her here." _

"_I can't let you beat me now, can I? You don't have to worry, Shirou. This is something that I have to do myself." The man gave a light-hearted chuckle upon his son's childish simplicity, but he knew deep in his heart that the real matter could never be solved so easily. "When my health recovered, I'll go…and bring her here." _

_The remaining moments were spent in silence as the pair indulged in the atmosphere of summer, the twinkling starlight, the rhythmic chirping of cicadas, and the howls of distant fireworks. _

"_It's getting late. I'll see you to bed." _

"_You don't have to." The child shook his head. "I'm already ten." _

"_I see…Shirou is a strong boy." A gentle hand rubbed the crown of the boy's head. "Then dad better make sure he's being strong as well." _

_Watching his son's receding form, the father mumbled silent words to himself. The trailing remark that he meant for no one else had not escaped the child's eavesdropping ears. _

"…_If I would ever be strong enough…." _

_Though having heard the bitterness in his father's voice, the child's optimism remained untouched as he returned to his bedroom with rapid strides. Excitement and imagination ran wild, prolonging his eventual sleep for many joyous hours as he made a silent vow to himself. _

_A vow that he would do all that was in his power to gather the remaining remnant of their family… _

_A vow that, alas, went unfulfilled and was soon forgotten…_

* * *

><p>Here was an opportunity to make amends…<p>

"Whatever it was, the illness made him grow weaker by the day. You are the reason why he fought it so bravely." Perhaps uncharacteristic of him, Shirou continued to speak with newly found fervor as if he was possessed, simple earnest words imbued with emotion.

"Liar…If that's true then he should just-"

"It's the truth."

The confirmation to Shirou's words came from the least expected person in the room.

"Saber?"

"I have no pretty words to say about Kiritsugu, but what I do know is that the love for his family was genuine." For the first time in their conversation, Saber offered her piece of insight, albeit with apparent reluctance. In the end, her overbearing sense of justice did prevail over her personal disdain of the man, knowing full well of the reassurance she could provide.

"He would not have wanted to pain you with his death, and Irisviel's. This is the way he would have shown kindness to others."

"Idiot…Disappearing forever and dying isn't all that different…" Ilya mumbled in argument.

While she did not lack the ability to comprehend the story from Kiritsugu's side, it was no simple feat to yield to the fact her years were spent that wallowing in a vain and worthless grudge. After all, it was a decision that seemed to fit the personality of her aloof father.

"Alright, enough of this depressing topic. It must be pretty difficult to accept everything at once. Well, it is for me too…" Unable to endure the gloom that quickly seized the room, Shirou decided to move the topic of conversation onward. "After the war, let's have a dinner together. That's right, you would never have tasted good Japanese cuisine before, right?"

"It would be a pleasure…" The few silent moments that passed with growing awkwardness made Berserker decide to deliver a small nudge to the flow of conversation. He made it his own responsibility to be saying the words that she wanted to but could not bring herself to say.

"Wait, Berserker! I'm not saying that I will!"

"There is no harm in simply accepting his invitation…"

Ilya was trapped with multiple pairs of eyes upon her. With nowhere to run or hide, she could only cave in to the pressure, although not before making her feign annoyance known with a derisive snort.

"Oh, fine! If you insist, I suppose I might drop by if I'm in the mood, but I won't promise anything. Only and only if I'm in the mood."

"It's a promise then. After the war, let's us meet here and I'll cook for you."

"Big talk when it's not like you're going to survive it at all…And-And we still have to fight if either of us are going to win the war." Ilya's retort faltered for a moment. Apparently, it seemed that Shirou's optimism was indeed contagious to have swayed her.

"I'm sure we can talk and work something out. Isn't that what it means to be a family?" With his usual carefree smile, Shirou dismissed her concern.

"Hmph, let me warn you. I still won't think of you as a family…Enough of this stupid topic! Let's go, Berserker!" An acute episode of rising embarrassment had her swiftly made an exis in the façade of anger, but her hesitant steps were sufficient indication of the real emotion she bore toward the offer.

True enough, she did stop and turn around soon after.

"…I'll be really angry if you don't do a good job with the dinner. So make sure to do your best…"

The cover of stubbornness fell off with her bashful demeanor. That alone was enough to invite small laughs from the three who observed her with endearing eyes.

"Don't laugh! I tell you I really mean it! I'll really get angry!" Agitated, Ilya stepped up to defend herself, although succeeded in no more than adding another layer of childishness to herself. It was to her luck that they'd all found the quality endearing. Feeling that she was involved in a losing battle, Ilya stomped away from the trio.

Berserker couldn't help but have his heart warmed by the sight of an apologetic brother trying to placate his sulking sister. It was an unforeseen development that a flower of kinship could have bloomed in so short a period and in the field of war no less.

Out of the earshot of his Master, who was stomping away in embarrassment, Berserker's monstrous right hand was laid on the Shirou's left shoulder. Curiously, the youth had not reacted with any sign of terror to a setup that would have scared most out of their mind.

"Lad, you have my thanks."

"She really is a handful, isn't she?"

"A father must be able to handle this much." Berserker lips crooked into a satisfied grin. "In time, you will understand…"

"Ahh, well, let's hope that time doesn't come too soon."

"Let's," Berserker grunted in agreement. "But, when the time comes, never forget that you are all that she has left."

"Shirou…" Finally bursting through the limits of her patience, Saber dropped her usual manner and pulled him to the side. "…Do not forget that both you and she are still a part of the Holy Grail War. As she had said, once our paths cross with their, it can only end with bloodshed."

"Worry not, Saber." Berserker cut in between their argument with a solution of his own devising. The remnants of the thought had weighted heavily on his mind for many days, ever since his knowledge of her plight, but they were only being recently pieced together to form a resolution. "A master needs not die for the War to reach its conclusion. When the day comes…"

Berserker closed his eyes and steeled his emotion for the trials that remained. A new mission was upon him as he made a vow to smite all that threatened the small bond that had emerged during the course of one afternoon.

"I shall disappear…"

His words were said with a firm and honest determination that left no room for doubt or suspicion. The impact of his resolute solution lingered and left the two unable to respond even as he silently departed after his Master.

* * *

><p>As always, all forms of review, comment, or constructive criticism tend to make my day, so please leave some if you have the time to. Thanks!<p> 


	10. Passing Torch

**Chapter10: The Passing Torch**

* * *

><p><em>She was lost in a world of unforgiving callousness, searching for a warmth that would thaw her heart. Finding none, envy and anger fostered inside her, turning a heart once innocent and full of life into one drenched completely with bitterness. <em>

_Trying to stop time at the point of their parting, she faced each new day under a guise of cheerfulness. She knew it was absurd to hope, but even a childish mind needed sustenance. _

_The years passed with broken promise and misplaced trust. Fearing the same betrayal, her heart closed down. Compassion and sympathy were left in her mental recess, where she was no longer willing to reach for them. Strengthened by the vow of vengeance, the pain could be forgotten temporarily. It instilled the broken girl with a purpose she would never dreamed of otherwise. _

_Even so, with all her farce and the imaginary joy of revenge, the void inside still remained..._

* * *

><p><em>He was lost in a world of unending pleasure. Wines and foods, music and fornications, his fame ensured that none would ever be in short supply. Queens and princesses threw themselves at his very feet like common harlots. Lavish feasts were thrown in his name where wines from far and wide were guzzled down without restraint. <em>

_But the lingering taste of delicacies and the fermented fragrance of wine soon turned tartly sour, and the softness and the odor of bodies he embraced soon turned repugnant. They were temporary refuges for his shattered heart, for he lacked the strength to carry on and face each new day. _

_The labors were for naught. The salvation was nothing pretty lies. Regret and nightmares were his sole company. _

_Doused by a hefty supply of wine and women, the wound inside no longer bled and festered. The years that passed made him grow callous to the pain. _

_Even so, through all of finest indulgence the world had to offer, a void inside still remained…_

* * *

><p>The full moon floated in the sky, just as it had during their first meeting. The faint light outlined the entrance hall with an eerie glow. Like a calm before a storm, all voices ceased in the dead of the night.<p>

Half the night passed with Berserker standing before the mighty door that led further into the manor, the stone blade firmly grasped in both hand by the hilts, its sharp end pointed down toward the ground. The posture gave him the distinct look of a statue, albeit one that would spring to life as soon as an uninvited guest would so much as daring to venture deeper into the hall.

Basking in the lingering euphoria from the last evening, the absence of light and warmth in the entrance hall was of no concern to him. Still, the smell of burning firewood and the fireplace that radiated warmth inside did prove to be a tempting notion. He was grateful for this emotion, for the manor had provided him with a sense of home that he himself no longer deserved.

Ilya poked her sleepy head out of the gap between the doors. All the tossing and turning in her large Victorian bed was to blame for her ruffled hair and nightgown. Half asleep and half annoyed, she briefly observed Berserker before judging that he wouldn't budge from his position.

"You're not coming inside?"

Berserker shook his head. At least for tonight, there was no need to be keeping watch in Ilya's room.

Not for tonight.

"Fine…"

The small animal-like footsteps continued to approach, followed by a flop and some heavy breathing. It took Berserker a while to register the object that Ilya had just thrown to the ground as a blanket, one of those thick feathery ones from her bedroom.

"It's nothing…I just don't want you to be cold." Ilya quickly added when she saw his head tilted to the side in confusion. "Be grateful alright? It's not easy carrying all these here."

Berserker was pleasantly surprised. It seemed that time had changed it all, for a girl so bent on vengeance to be awakened to compassion…

They were similar, much more than either of them would have cared to admit. The world to them was a disappointment that had left them trudging with a gaping hole in place of their hearts.

But no more…

Their voids had been filled. More than any worldly pleasure, this small gesture was all that Berserker had ever wanted, just a little warmth of family. The tingles in his heart told him so. This happiness was neither false nor fleeting. It would be etched in his heart and remain for years to come. Indeed, this was a taste that he had long forgotten.

A strange happiness…simple, seemingly illogical, but undeniably real.

The incoming bloodshed of the Grail War might have been a poor setting to celebrate, but it would be foolish to not recognize the circumstance as worthy of celebration.

Many memories were made during the two months since their fateful meeting in the snowy forest. The bad ones made them grow stronger and the good ones were there to be cherished. So much had happened that made it seem like eternity, but the joy at the same time made it seem as if they had all passed in the blink of an eye. The realization seemed conflicting, but Berserker was satisfied nonetheless.

He had long since reconciled to the prospect that their time together was approaching its inevitable end, but the realization only served to strengthen his resolve. The time spent with her worth more to him than any treasures, and he was determined to repay even at the cost of his life.

"You are growing, Ilya…to be a fine lady that I never before anticipated." Slightly torn between the forlornness and pride of a father watching his once helpless daughter growing up, he praised her in earnest. "Even without my help, you can stand on her own."

"Berserker…What came over you today?" Baffled, Ilya raised an eyebrow at the seemingly random time for a heartfelt compliment. Berserker, after all, was rarely the type to employ verbal expression.

With one outstretched arm, he drew the girl close to his body and, for the first time, embraced her. Not just an affectionate pat on the head but a real hug, just like what he would give to his daughter. Her warmth seeped into him, giving him the courage he desperately needed in this moment.

"Berserker, seriously, what's wrong?" Squirming in his arms, Ilya gave a light-hearted complaint, but it was as apparent that she enjoyed the treatment. "You're…hugging too tight."

"Nothing, I just…"

"_Saying farewell, father?"_

Unfazed, Berserker scoffed at the phantom's mockery.

"_This illusion of yours will not last for much longer…"_

Berserker knew the phantom spoke the truth, but it did not matter. He had no intention to let this moment slip past. If only for a moment longer, he would grasp and latch onto this dream with all his might. As their time together was approaching its end, would it not be fine to cherish each other's warmth?

"Ilya, are you…happy?"

"W-What are you asking now?"

The question caught the girl off-guard, so simple and bluntly phrased that she couldn't manage a reply. It was a simple question to answer, but there was a serious edge to Berserker's tone that prevented a hasty answer on her side.

He did not want an answer

At least, not yet.

"Think, Ilya. Think hard then answer. I will wait as long as is needed."

Alas, just like the ebb and flow of tide, opportunities often vanish without a trace when it is most needed, and Berserker was out of his. A thundering crash shook the hallway, a wakening gong that tore both of them out of the pleasant dreams they were sharing.

"A bad show of bonding in a royal presence." A foreign voice invaded their sanctuary, coming from the golden king who leaned on the remains of oaken door to observe the pair. On his sharply refined face was a look of scorn. "Here I see a hero playing family in the middle of a war."

"I don't expect you to understand." Berserker showed no surprise toward the intruder. He had long since noticed the harbinger of war of that was creeping in. "For me, this is a treasure more worthy than even the grail itself."

"Distasteful spectacle…"

Only a fool or a champion of arms could afford the same frivolousness of the intruder. Berserker might have lacked the same sense for prana as an ordinary magi, but a lifetime of grueling war had done more than harden his body. By then, instinct had wakened him to a certain realization. This foe was no ordinary Servant. That much he could tell. The coming battle was a rare one in which he could not honestly declare himself a victor by assessment.

Even so, the flame of defiance burned in him ever more brightly under the ancient king's scornful gaze. All fear left his mind as Berserker rushed forth in defiance.

A single leap closed the distance between them, and the hoisted stone blade came crashing down in the full arc of an impressive overhead swing. Deafening noise, concrete dust, and rubble erupted from the area of impact and showered the area. The entire chunk of the balcony fell prey to his strength, stressed to the verge of collapse.

Through the shockwave that followed, the king remained steadfast. Three swords, one spear, and a pair of scythes blocked the path of Berserker's downward stroke. For a moment, their combined strength matched his ferocious blow as if held by chief retainers for the protection of their king.

It would be an insult for him to be bested in a contest of strength. Berserker roared and pressed on, determined to break through the defense of man and weapons alike.

But fate often proved to be cruelest to those who try to defy it. A single phrase uttered by the King of Heroes crushed his fleeting notion of hope.

"Enuma Elish…"

His arms would not budge, locked in place by mysterious force. A sideway glance showed strands of chains wrapped around his exposed limbs like vile serpents.

"…Enkidu." The' gods capturing chain and one of the few phantasms that spelled a tragic end for the son of Zeus.

Upon the command of its wielder, the unstrung chains tightened, stretching each entrapped limb to their extremities. Dangling a few feet above ground, the hero was now reduced to the appearance of a sacrificial victim, his torso fully exposed to line of fire.

With a snap of fingers, a barrage of weapons rained down, but each that struck him were harmlessly deflected. Their sharpened tips failed to even penetrate his skin.

The phantasm of the Twelve Labors turned him into the strongest bulwark that fended off the continuous waves of attack. Through the deluge of blades, the great hero resisted, yanking the small links of metal that had the impudence to bind him, but, against a phantasm designed for the sole purpose of capturing gods, his Olympian strength was of no use.

Just as the fight seemed to be progressing to a stalemate, Berserker's vision failed with the pain that erupted from both eye sockets. The two lengths of blade pierced through the two only weak spots in his anatomy and became lodged in the skull cavity. Death came by in an instant with the trauma to his grey matter.

Regeneration followed just as quick, and the pain only seemed to egg him on, but the hero, bounded arm and foot, only served as no more than an entertainment for the King of Babylonia. Before he could come to proper sense, another barrage of weapons was unleashed.

Out of the twelve lives he was bestowed, ten remained, but the stockpile turned out to be of no use to him.

His Noble Phantasm was a cruel one. Few could withstand the trauma of death; even bravest of heroes would cringe at the inevitable despair that followed. To lose many in tandem took a much heavier toll on mind than any sane man could bear. Even Heracles was no exception.

He struggled in vain against the blackness that threaten to overtake his vision. The scene of present battle was left behind as his mind wandered.

* * *

><p><em>The beast looked down at the puny human that had dared to venture into its realm. The Lernaean Hydra, as the locals called it, seemed ripened with confidence at its weakening prey. It lumbered forth for the final glory of the kill and the fulfilling taste of flesh that it longed for. <em>

_The sun had moved halfway across the sky since his flaming arrows had goaded the beast out of its lair. Globules of toxin were smeared across the landscape, evaporating with furious sizzles into noxious mist. His lower face was covered, but the piece of rag proved to be grossly insufficient in filtering out the residues of poison that clogged the surrounding air. _

_The poison weakened him, shutting down his senses one by one. It was one of the few times that Heracles sensed fear. He would not be one of the rotting skeletons that scattered across the cavern entrance. _

_He couldn't afford to die before redemption was complete. _

_He just couldn't…_

* * *

><p>"Berserker!" A distant scream called him to his senses, a familiar voice tinged with horror.<p>

Pain was all around, having once overloaded his senses to a blackout. The chains dangled from his limbs and left the great hero trapped like a livestock, but Heracles was no man's cattle to be slaughtered. A man of his caliber would refused to do anything less than going down fighting until the very last second. His struggle against the chain intensified, but only added to insult when it refused to budge.

Blood gushed from dozens of punctures that lined his torso. Some were starting to heal as his stockpile of lives replaced the lost ones, but the rest remained inert. The battle was already lost, when his limbs were trapped and bound.

"…Futile resistance."

True to the ancient king's words, Berserker's limit was approaching. The recoveries made to his flesh and skin were merely a façade. His insides were too damaged to be healed, leaving him as an inflated sack of mangled organs. Heaving motions to draw in breath disturbed these internal wounds, but his senses were by then numbed to the pain.

Despair seized his mind as death's footsteps crept closer. One hand drew a crimson blade. Another seized him by the hair. It mocked and laughed like a hunter gloating over a fallen prey. A sword hoisted high, ready to finish him off.

But the pain never came.

An invisible blade stilled the crimson sword from delivering the final blow. The glimpse of a fluttering blue dress and armor restored the spark of life within him; the final blaze before it would be put out completely.

All hope was not yet lost.

"Saber, protect her! Protect her!"

Fading senses made it difficult for Berserker to perceive whether she had heard his plea. He had no care about dishonor. Only the fear of Ilya's death was alive in his mind.

Near the very edge of his vision, Saber's Master stood next to Ilya, shielding the girl from falling chunks of glass and stone. Although Ilya seemed to be giving him a hard time, he persisted in the attempt to drag her to safety.

Berserker let out a breath of relief. For once, the gods were on his side.

A vicious fight raged on through the hallway in which he was forced to assume the spectator role. The knight danced and swayed through barrages of incoming weapons, parrying those that came disturbingly close with her invisible blade, but that was all she could manage. Her every attempt to advance was fended off with a volley swords soaring through the air like arrows.

Arrows…

The sight resonated with a memory that Heracles recalled with pride.

Their opponent treated Saber as no more than a play thing to exact entertainment from, but he wasn't about to let the real prey escape his clutches. The storm of weapons was turned to keep Saber at bay, but the king's eyes was set on the retreating pair and what more would he need to kill two mortals than flick of his wrist?

The realization drove Berserker mad with rage. Harming him could be condoned, but bringing harm to his daughter was a far graver offense. Wrathful roars erupted as his body was strained with fervor like never before. Twisting, turning, and tearing away, one right arm finally broke free of the bondage, followed by the left. So caught up in the crisis that he'd failed to even to notice that it was not the chain that broke, but rather his mutilated flesh, being pulled from the bones.

Even so, Berserker still remained under bondage, such that he couldn't even hope to be sacrificed as her living shield. Trapped in such a predicament, there was only one option. Ceding struggle, Berserker instead raised both arms perpendicular to the ground, his left fully stretched and his right bended closer to the body, the stance of an experienced archer.

* * *

><p><em>The poison sent him into delirium, but Heracles was a man like no others. His purpose was to hunt, not to be hunted. The snake's confidence in his demise would soon be its downfall. All his hope betted on this final chance to defeat the odds. <em>

_Craggy rock surface received his back. Although both his legs were unsteadied by its venom, his hands had not slackened their grip. Long years of bending had melded the laminated surface of yew and horn into their shape. _

_His left hand gave the bow a resolute squeeze. His right dropped down to the quiver. _

_He was ready… _

"_Nine…"_

* * *

><p>"..Lives"<p>

Berserker called the name of his greatest of his Noble Phantasm, a companion of long that had served him well even during the time of direst needs, a yew bow in his left hand and an arrow in his right. He knew that he would emerge victorious once the arrow was released, but the final obstacle was upon him. The phantom emerged from the recess of his mind to interfere.

"_Why her, father?" _

The war might be upon them, but Berserker was fighting his own battle. Hesitation gripped his arms, coiling like an icy snake. It dug deeper in attempting to seize away control, but Berserker remained impervious.

"_You did not save me, so why her…?"_

His senses were chipped away by blood lost and delirium. The phantom's features became sharpened as his awareness dimmed, its voice clearer, its face more vivid, growing in size as if to consume him. Skin and flesh distorted and fell out of its confines, twisting into a gruesome lump of gore that crawled all over his front.

"_Why her and not me, Father…?"_

Berserker was nevertheless stricken by a peculiar calmness.

He was taught since an early age that the battlefield was no place for sentiment. With the bow in hand, his courage was revived, his doubt shredded and tossed away. The phantom's voice, even as it took the monstrous form, was no more than a whisper in the wind.

Mistakes and sin did not matter. Guilt and remorse did not matter. All that remained in his mind was to save the girl that was still screaming in her brother's clutches, desperate to be by his side. Such was the final labor he had chosen for himself, and no amount of threats or coercing could make him lay down his arms.

He was Heracles, the champion of men and the subjugator of beasts. None that lived and roamed the earth should be able to strike fear into his heart, whether real or imaginary. Before him was the final foe to be subdued, another page to be added into the annals of his legend.

Countless experience of the movement guided him. His fingers bended into small hooks to pull the taut bowstring. The arrow squeezed in the gap between his index and middle finger was the only beacon for his failing senses.

His aim wavered and his grip slackened, but Berserker refused to fall. Sheer force of will alone managed to prop his legs to stand firm in their final moment. Berserker's very soul was channeled into the arrow for a single shot that would bring him victory.

"I will protect her…"

The simple phrase was chanted like a mantra to numb his pain with a sense of duty. Starting off as no more than an inaudible whisper, it began to grow in strength.

"…Protect her…Protect her."

Heracles had once before fired an arrow against daunting odds. His hands were quivering, but the weakness of flesh wasn't a foe that he could not overcome.

"I will protect her!" Berserker bellowed. All three fingers that rested on the fully stretched bowstring released simultaneously. "Be gone, foul beast!"

With a sharp 'twang,' nine arrows of concentrated prana emerged from his bow. Hallucinations and crafted irons were similarly deformed and swallowed in the ravenous vortex of energy. The bloody specter gave its final screech as it faded away like foul mist. Both the phantom's broken form and the ancient king's barrage of weapons were smote down with a power rivalling the gods themselves.

"…Why you?! Insolent maggot!"

The golden king reached for Ea, but his response was dulled by the false sense of security lent from having mankind's greatest hero captured. For the decision to defeat power with power, his movement was a tad too slow. Just as his crimson blade began to whir and scream, the upsurge of energy swallowed him whole.

Pride was a fitting downfall for a man of his arrogance. Only an undignified scream was produced as the waves after waves of prana assailed him, each ripping away layers of armor and flesh. Once the waves of onslaught left the scene, Berserker knew that his foe was no more. Such was the battle of Heroic Spirits, where the victors are decided in a split second and a mere moment of lapse in wariness can lead to severe consequences.

The atmosphere fizzled with sparks from the lingering waves of prana. Before the blast of turbulence subsided, Ilya clambered and crawled toward Berserker, ignoring the falling debris. She continued on even with failing legs, oblivious to even Shirou who came to her support. The sole thought on her mind was to be beside the dying man to cure and somehow make him return to life.

But there was but a single way in which a man's role as a father can be fulfilled. From the beginning until the very end, he took on the roles of a guardian, a teacher, the most faithful companion, a sacrifice…

It was only by surrendering his most precious to another and doing so with pride in his heart that a father could retire in peace. That torch of life must be entrusted to another hand, who will continued to carry her in his stead.

"Lad, she is in your hand…"

"Don't die…! I don't want you to die…" Ilya buried her face in his mangled chest, but death's icy grip would not release its grip on him. Before long, his warmth would dissipate and this dying man would be no more.

"Care for her…in my stead."

Only brief words were exchanged between the two men, but they came to a mutual understanding. Though pained and wearied, Berserker was merely steps away from the finish line. The next runner was there, eager to accept the torch in his hand.

With a nod from Shirou, Berserker's tense form softened with relief.

"Ilya…listen to me,"

"No…No! I'll listen when we get out of here!" The girl's instinct was sharp. She soon deduced the nature of what Berserker was about to say next. She knew that once his last words had been said, the great hero would leave his mortal coil. "We'll heal you and-"

A smile from Berserker interrupted Ilya's denial. It was her first time to see it, or anyone else for that matter; that a man with an ever stoic expression could break out into a smile on the verge of death. The expression contrasted with the steady stream of red that flowed from within him.

"Ilya…smile for me…even if sadness finds you." Each gentle caress stained her hair with patches of red, but, in this time of parting, they accepted each and every mark left upon her as a proof of his sacrifice. "… Promise…you will smile…"

Through the streaming tears and quivering sobs, upon Ilya's face was a smile, one so fleeting and fragile, like a patch of snow in the midst of spring. Though it would soon be subsumed by the sorrow that contorted her expression, it was a smile nonetheless.

"I will…For your sake..." She whispered, allowing Shirou to lead her away by the hand.

"Now go…And live…"

His gaze trailed longingly after the girl's retreating form. It took great effort for him to retain the rapidly fading consciousness and sear the last image of Ilya deep into his mind. Pain assailed his entire body, but his heart remained at peace.

If the brief span that they had come to share in one another's lives had all been a pleasant dream, then the horn of war had brought the time of the morn much too soon.

Too soon for every word they had left unsaid…

Too soon for the times of happiness yet to come…

Too cruel to let blood be shed on the account of their parting.

Still, the torch that he carried had been passed to another hand…a capable hand to protect and cherish her in his stead.

The grail reached for him, but, unlike before, he turned down its invitation. He had no more use of its miracle. His final labor was done and his redemption was completed.

"Live on, Ilya…"

The adventure of Heracles had reached its conclusion, with a smile to adorn its final page…a smile so radiant that it dispelled even the horror of approaching death.

"Live on…"

His heart was at peace, kept safe by the knowledge that his death was neither one of a warrior nor a hero.

"…My …Beloved…Daughter"

Here, beneath the collapsing manor, Heracles breathed his last as a father.

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><p><strong>AN**: Sorry for the slow update, but things should be picking now that I finally have some time to write. There will be two more chapters as the conclusion on both Berserker's and Ilya's side, so stay tuned and enjoy! For those who are saddened by Berserker's death, I assure you there will be a happy ending for both of them.


	11. Epilogue(Ilya): For Those Who Remain

Just for those who are curious, this chapter is a continuation of the event in the earlier chapter as an alternate ending of the Fate route where Ilya survive and help Shirou to sustain Saber with her prana.

At any rate, do enjoy!

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><p><span><strong>Epilogue (Ilya Side): For those who remain<strong>

"…Obon?" Ilya asked during one lazy morning for the Emiya family.

"Yes, Obon. It's a festival to honor the dead." Lazing on the tatami mat was the docile form of Emiya Shirou. His current appearance made it difficult to believe that he was the victor of the most recent Holy Grail War. It was a rare spectacle to see him loitering around at a sluggish pace. Ordinarily, he could either be seen in the dojo, practicing swordsmanship, or in his workshop, practicing magecraft.

"Oh, is it?" Ilya said, lazing at the opposite end of the room. Her physical form had undergone limited changes in the time span of a year, but her demeanor had seen the most drastic transformation. Save for some occasional bout of childishness, Ilya had matured.

The physical limitations and the stigma of her family might not disappear, but, more so than most, the Einzberns knew well enough not to make enemies of the magi who had the tenacity to live through the Grail War. For now, there was peace and they were content with it.

"During the day we'll clean the grave and burn some incense."

"…I wonder if he would like it…" Ilya hesitated for a moment. Her distant gaze trailed up toward the sky.

"Well, you see, there's a belief in Japan that your ancestors will continue to hang around. Let's say like a guardian spirit. We pray for them and they protect us."

"Do you believe it then? Even though we are all magus here?"

"Hard to say, but what does it matter? Real or not, it's still reassuring to think that they're still here." Half crawling, half trudging, Shirou came to take a seat beside her. "Besides, we're just showing that we care enough to still be taking care of them after they're gone."

"Ok then, I'm counting on you to a great job to make both graves squeaky clean without a spot of dust." Ilya's lips curved into a devious grin.

"Mooching off my labor again, I see."

"Don't forget, dear brother. The only reason that you…and she are standing here is because I lent you my prana. I'll freeload off you and your labor for as long as I want."

"…Duly noted."

"You. Are. Still. Indebted," Ilya happily reminded him, stressing every word. It was their usual routine exchange, made every once in a while to her delight.

"I know and for that I still am grateful," Shirou said, with a wry smile on his face. He had neither the wits nor the tongue to counter her teasing with a jab of his own. Blunt honesty was his greatest asset, the kind that worked wonders upon her. "It's a huge debt I'm not sure I can repay, so every day I'm grateful for you. I really am, so once again, thank you, Ilya."

"…You sure know how to say the most embarrassing things, brother." Ilya's devilish teasing expression softened, her gaze turned downward and her cheeks brightened with embarrassment.

"But that doesn't mean you are exempted from your duty and don't you think he would be happier to see his beloved daughter cleaning it up herself?

"I suppose so…" Ilya sulked for a moment. "Fine, I'll do it…"

Shirou smirked. The verbal match ended with his victory.

"Breakfast is ready, head to dining room, you two. It will soon get cold otherwise."

"Oh, thanks, Saber"

"…And, Shirou, I will need your help with the seasoning…"

"Coming…Still, please give me something I can work with. Even I can't turn charcoals into proper human food…"

"H-How rude! That was only an occasional blunder and a teacher should have more confidence in his student…Besides, I did graduate from that chopping board."

"Dear, I'm sad to say that there are still a lot more you have to master-" The increasing hostile intent in the air made Shirou reluctant to continue his teasing. "Well, it's not like we don't have all the time in the world."

Leaving the couple to their banter, Ilya loitered in the yard for a brief moment. Her feet rested before two small mounds of dirt, each marked and adorned by a small protruding pillar. At her insistence, the two small makeshift graves had been erected by the courtesy of her adoptive brother. Her Germanic roots could never quite understand the tradition of the Orients to keep a sculpted piece of wood to remember deceased relatives.

Then again, her preferred tradition involve a block of carved stone, so she couldn't exactly claim any better. Two wilting flower wreaths rested above the earthen mounds. Ilya made a mental note to replace them later that day.

"It's alright. I won't cry anymore…I'm already done crying, after all."

She was grateful to both men that had a memorial made in their honor. The first brought her into this world. The second gave her a second chance to live a full life. Although the time she had spent with each was brief, the love that they bore for her was undeniable. They both deserved no less than a monument, although she knew in her heart that neither of them was one for lavishness.

It seemed strange to her that the bond of a family could be forged in only a few months' time. She often missed the feeling of his hand resting upon the crown of her head. Even now, she woke up in the night groping for the sturdy hand that calmed, soothed, reassured, and was never far beyond her reach.

"You know, it's been such a fun year for me…lots of new things. We just came from camping in the mountain, just only last June. You did say you like summer, so you would have loved it. There were fishes and stars…and campfires and barbeque."

Ilya stooped over. Her wistful hand rested atop the headstone - a smooth-cut block of marble. It was difficult to believe that his spirit could reside within something so cold and lifeless. Cold wind rushed by, carrying along with it the nostalgic scent of autumn. Just only last year, he was still here with her to ward off the cold.

"…Don't worry, I'm already done…crying."

She thought it was unfair; the dead reveled as a hero and the living had to cope with guilt. He came into her life then disappeared like a gust of wind, not even staying long enough to be repaid.

"…Ahh, what am I doing after you told me to smile." Her right hand quickly raised up to flick away the silver droplet before it could roll down her cheek. Somewhere beneath the unfeeling surface of marble, she could feel his warmth, reassuring and comforting. His unsaid words seeped out from the stone and echoed within.

"_Live, my daughter. Live and be happy." _

Just like he had been in his final moments…Stern, tender, and full of compassion.

* * *

><p>"<em>Ilya…Are you happy?" <em>

_She could not respond to his question, and the momentary hesitation robbed her of the final chance to answer it in person. Her reply was muffled by the enemy that came blasting through the oaken doors._

_With a chuckle, Berserker turned away, not in anger or exasperation, but in an understanding of her reluctance. He was fully aware that he may no longer have the chance to hear her reply. _

_It didn't matter. _

_Until she would be ready to answer with all of her honest heart, his strength would be committed to the mission of restoring her happiness. For this, he would wait to an eternity if need be. _

_Until she could truly answer without any tiniest shred of hesitation, he would never rest. _

"_Take as long as you need to answer, Ilya. Until then, I will stay by your side."_

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><p>His commitment was one made with sheer devotion, and now it had borne fruits.<p>

"…I am…I am…I am…" Her words were squeezed out, initially as a whisper, then growing in strength. She loudly sobbed out the words as if making up for the opportunity that had passed, hoping somehow that her voice could be carried to the beyond.

"I am…I am very happy…"

She repeated it until all air seemed to have been expelled from her lungs.

"Thank you for everything…"

Ilya whispered, with an almost inaudible voice. She moved a step closer and leaned down before the small gravestone, where she planted a gentle kiss.

Their bond remained safe in her heart, where it endured the passage of time.

"…Father."

Once she started back toward the dining room, her face was adorned with the same radiant smile from the time of their parting, traces of tears wiped away by her sleeve. She knew he was watching and wished to let him know that the smile was meant for him.

To live, fall in love, raise a family, grow old, and finally die in the peace, all these were simple happiness that were denied from her, ones that he'd managed to win back for her sake. With pride in her heart, she faced the day as the living testament of Heracles' final and most daunting feat.

The fruit of his thirteenth labor.

"Ahhh, no fair, don't just start breakfast without me!"

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><p>Done! Hope you guys enjoy it. Berserker's epilogue will follow shortly, so stay tuned until then.<p> 


	12. Epilogue(Heracles): A Hero's Homecoming

**Epilogue (Berserker Side): A Hero's Homecoming**

Heracles drifted through the darkness, a castaway with direction or forbearing. His arms and legs lacked the strength to wade against the current, so he reclined into it, having little care where it would take him. Either it was darkness or inferno that awaited, he would soon find out.

Heracles feared neither. He had walked the path of redemption, all tasks completed and all missions fulfilled. His wish was not meant for his own happiness but for hers, the one he had entrusted with his life.

As long as she was happy, Heracles needed no happy ending of his own.

He drifted through the darkness, soothed by the sound of waves. The current carried him along. To where, he couldn't care less.

Long moments passed before Heracles found the resolve to open his eyes. Rays of light blinded him. Tearing, he fought the glare and lifted himself above the sand and waves. Wherever he was, it sure wasn't hell.

The rising sun peeked over the horizon. The sand felt soft and loamy beneath his bare feet. Beyond the shore, grasses and leaves swayed, caressed by the warm Mediterranean breeze. Deeper within, the lush green blanket parted to reveal a tilled field, lush with summer harvest.

He knew the field. He knew every inch of it by heart. He knew this orchard of grapes and olives that flourished under his wife's constant care. He knew the lonely house that stood in the distance. He knew every brick that was laid by his hands.

It was a vision of happiness beyond all that could be attained by fame or glory.

Voices came from across the shore, youthful and vibrant.

"It's dad! It's dad!"

"Ah, Dad!"

Children…His own…

Their faces contained no expressions of horror. As if the horror of death had long since slipped their mind, only pure jubilation remained.

"How…? How is this possible?"

"There you are." A woman walked up to him with a smile as brilliant as the sun that bathed her in an orange glow. "We have much to catch up, my dear, but first let's get you settle down. Your breakfast is waiting."

"We helped too, you know!"

"Right! Right!"

"They were so eager to hear of your journey. Oh dear, I couldn't even manage to calm them down."

Three betrayed souls stood to welcome him home. Four, counting the infant cradled in her arms. Heracles thought it was heaven, but it couldn't be. No heaven would open its gate for a grave sinner.

His vision blurred. He feared that it was all a delusion. He feared the sight before him would fade, leaving him to wallow in the darkness once more, but his vision did not flicker. The tracing of their bodies still remained sharp and vivid against the scene of the rising sun after he wiped the tears away.

Heracles doubted his senses. A life of loneliness had turned him into a skeptic. He had lived through this same scene many times, only to wake up alone with the stink of sweat and wine on his breath.

"Come on now, what are you standing there looking all forlorn for. Show us a smile once in a while." Her palms reached up and caressed his chin. Two fingers pushed the edge of his lips into a makeshift smile.

"There we go. Much better."

The gesture of intimacy brought him back to senses. That was when he knew it was real.

All of it. Everything.

Real.

Shame flooded him in waves and forced Heracles to his knees. The great hero fell and prostrated himself like a petty murderer.

"I…I'm sorry..." Heracles's words couldn't quite capture the message he had in mind. Words were grossly insufficient in expressing his guilt. His tongue was clumsy and tied down. The same doubt visited him as when he'd first consulted the oracle as to whether there truly was an appropriate way to ask forgiveness for a crime so dire.

"Say no more. We speak no more of it."

"But I-"

"Shhh. All is forgiven, my love. We know of your pain…your torment." The woman leaned over on his groveling form. Her bosom nestled against him and silenced his protest. Both her arms draped over his shoulders. "We know, so come back to us with pride."

The children formed a circle, each leaning their small body upon him.

"Dad…? Will you be staying this time?"

"Don't go, dad. We really miss you."

He anticipated hatred, fear, and distrust. He expected them all to descend upon him like a storm.

Instead, he received mercy. Heracles wept. Tears rushed down in an endless stream, but, for the first time in years, they were ones of joy instead of sorrow.

"You've suffered for far too long. Come to us and stay…Stay."

"…I swear I'll stay…." he replied, choked with sobs. He took them all in his arms, relishing in the warmth that he had been deprived of for so long. "I'll stay forever…"

His journey was a long one. Years of strife and sorrow went by, followed by years of emptiness, but what lay at the end of this dark tunnel was well-worth all his effort.

He obediently followed as the children dragged him by the hands, all the while laughing happily. The winding gravel road led to the conclusion of his journey. The shack stood to welcome him like a friend. The rickety wooden door creaked open, revealing the prize that awaited his claim.

"Welcome back."

"I'm home."

It was the only prize that Heracles had truly yearned for…

Home.

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><p>I know this ending have zero basis in the canon conception of the world, but anyway I just want to give Heracles his own happy ending. Well, a dream or reality, feel free to take the epilogue any way that you like.<p>

I'll be really grateful for any review. Thanks!

- EB

PS. I'm currently planning for extra chapters in this story. Depending on the reception, I might be writing a few more. Let me know what you think! A review would be great! Thanks!


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